


Sugar Daddy||c137cest AU

by NeverListenToThem



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, C137cest, Consent, Eventual Smut, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Description, M/M, Not Beta Read, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Rimming, Slow Burn, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 38,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverListenToThem/pseuds/NeverListenToThem
Summary: Now he lay down on his bed, feeling a rush of elation as he remembered what Rick had said before the brunet got out of the car: “You’re mine now.”The teen shivered as he recalled it, feeling his heart thud loudly in his chest. His lips curled into a smile as he turned onto his side, feeling his skin come alive as he memorized the way the man had pressed his lips upon his neck. Something akin to dominance as he let his own fingers assiduously brush along the tender flesh, making him tingle in a refreshing manner. Another tremor racked his body.“You’re mine now.”Those words echoed in his head, making his mind race as he had never held the prospect of being in a relationship before. No one had ever made him feel truly alive like this. Never had he felt the urge to be so close to another human being. Not like this. Not like the raw, pure want he felt for Rick, or the reciprocated feelings.“You’re mine now.”Biting his lip, he was reminded of the words again. Another rush of bliss waves through him, reminding he’s wanted. The way the syllables passed his lips with such possession.“You’re mine now.”“Yours."





	1. Chapter 1

Now he lay down on his bed, feeling a rush of elation as he remembered what Rick had said before the brunet got out of the car: _“You’re mine now.”_

            The teen shivered as he recalled it, feeling his heart thud loudly in his chest. His lips curled into a smile as he turned onto his side, feeling his skin come alive as he memorized the way the man had pressed his lips upon his neck. Something akin to dominance as he let his own fingers assiduously brush along the tender flesh, making him tingle in a refreshing manner. Another tremor racked his body.

_“You’re mine now."_

            Those words echoed in his head, making his mind race as he had never held the prospect of being in a relationship before. No one had ever made him feel truly alive like this. Never had he felt the urge to be so close to another human being. Not like this. Not like the raw, pure want he felt for Rick, or the reciprocated feelings.

_“You’re mine now.”_

            Biting his lip, he was reminded of the words again. Another rush of bliss waves through him, reminding he’s wanted. The way the syllables passed his lips with such possession.

_“You’re mine now.”_

            “Yours,” he stated quietly into his darkened room, letting the sound get swallowed by the unadulterated silence, feeling better than he had in years.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Morty Smith: a boy working at a café, always wanting to escape his family, this town, and everyone around him.

Rick Sanchez: his escape.

 **Only author’s note in this whole story: I don’t own anything except the plot and storyline of this particular fan fiction. Everything in this story is exactly that – a story; fictional. Most characters were created by the magnificent Justin Roiland and Dan Harmon. Any non-human based characters were morphed to fit my story, though I do not hold any real rights to claim them as mine, strictly their changed names and/or new physical appearances. I do, however, own this particular storyline as it was created by – of course – me. This is a FAN FICTION. Any ideas in this story are from my own imagination and I hope you enjoy.**  

**I am in no way making, or trying to make, money off of this work. It is purely for fun, and the entertainment of others.**

**(c) Copyright; All Rights Reserved**

**NeverListenToThem 2018**

****WARNING****

**Any chapter that has a double asterisk (**) indicates a smut chapter, meaning – bluntly put – sex, and/or sexual encounters. All chapters that have only one (*) is a chapter that only has slightly graphic detail, though I feel obligated to give warning.**

**Viewer discretion advised. Read at your own risk as there is slight triggering content. This is rated Explicit for strong use of language such as profanity and vulgarity as well as obscene material and graphic violence.**

**I will not tolerate hate in any form: messages, comments, or on my page in general. This is a fictional story about fictional characters about a ship that many people enjoy. Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Simple as that, so mind your own business.**  

 **I do not accept requests as there is already a plot made and I do not use any content that is not of my own creation. That would otherwise be plagiarism, or working dependently, both of which are not my cup of tea. If you would like to request a one-shot, made via prompt, send me a message on my Tumblr: @neverlistentothem**  

**Without any further ado, I will let you read on . . .**


	2. Prologue

            He was patiently taking people’s orders, only wanting to ram his head against the cash register as he waited for a teenage couple to decide what they wanted. They were taking forever, and the usually empty, peaceful café steadily grew louder as the line got longer. The quiet murmuring of people was all he could hear now, and he listened to their conversations as they were either griping about how long it was taking, or they were busy making phone calls, telling of an excuse of why they may be late for work, or asking someone to cover for them. Sighing, he finally decided enough was enough.

            “Excuse me, s-sir? Ma’am? Y-You’re holding up th-the line. I’m g-going to have to ask y-you to s-st-step out of it until – until you can decide,” the young boy stated, biting his lip as he felt the embarrassment that came with his stutter. Heat filled his cheeks, making him flush with nerves as they looked at him with contradicting expressions.

            The girl whom stood pressed against her boyfriend, clinging to his shoulder, turned to look at the people that had gathered from them. She smiled sheepishly, blushing lightly as she pulled on the guy’s arm. Glancing back to the cashier, she offered an apologetic smile.

            “Come on, Brad,” she whispered lowly, trying to keep quiet. “We should let these people through,” the girl insisted, her face now as red as her hair. The dark boy, much to everyone’s misfortune, glared at the barista, not moving.

            “Listen . . .” He took a moment to glance at the name tag pinned to the apron while he surveyed the teen.

            “ _Morty_ ,” he bit out, practically spitting the boy’s name. “Me and my girl are gonna stay here until –“ He was cut off by a cacophony of groans and exasperated sighs. For a moment, he looked apprehensive before he was glaring again. This time, he was looking around the room at the other customers. A warning.

            “Alright, fine,” he declared, taking the girl’s hand in his own. “Come on, Jessica,” he demanded, pulling her along the crowd and from the shop completely.

            “Hello, h-how m-may I help y-you?” he asked the next person in line whom happened to have a very specific order. There was an urge to yell in frustration. Not just because of the complexity of it, but his luck in general today.

            Nevertheless, he put on a brave face: baring his teeth in a friendly smile and pretended everything was fine. This was going to be a long day.


	3. Plain

****The hours passed like that; infuriatingly slow. As it passed 4, most people had stopped coming in. Only one or two customers would stop by, though there would be none left by 4:30. It almost made him dislike the fact he didn’t officially get off until 5. He glanced at the clock, groaning aloud as he saw it was only4:23. Sighing, he knew he should be thankful.

            Anything was better than going home. Though, he was tired as he laid his head on the counter, dropping his pen and notepad. There was a silver lining to today: his work shift. It almost made him smile as he was glad he worked the afternoon and not the morning shift. Just as he thought of it, the idea was short lived as he nearly groaned, remembering he would have it tomorrow. It would be then that he would be accompanied by another few employees as the one scheduled to come today had called in sick. Only two worked the third shift while three manned the second, and four held the first. Vaguely, he tried to remember who he worked with, but the names of his coworkers drew a blank.

            He had been so engrossed in his thoughts he nearly didn’t hear the song of the small bell above the door, signaling there was another person joining him. Softly sighing, he picked himself up to greet the customer, putting on an easy smile. A part of him wanted to wonder who would come into a coffee shopat this hour – so late in the afternoon – but he was greeted by a man that was just walking up to him, squinting as he checked the place out, eyeing the empty café.

            While his eyes swept about the mostly empty room, Morty took the moment to look over him, finding his hair one of the most prominent features about him. It was vibrant blue, his profile enhancing the strands as it was curtained over the left side of his face. Thick and soft-looking, shielding himself from view as to hinder the boy from getting a proper look at him. The teen didn’t get a chance to observe anything else as the man turned his gaze toward him. It was then he realized his eyes matched his hair, though brighter, more translucent and making him freeze, his breath caught in his throat.

            “Hello, h-how m-may I help you?” the cashier asked when the other was officially in front of the counter. At first, he was surprised he could speak, but it was an automatic response as the phrase had become like a second nature. Silence fell over them, and he felt a tad warmer. The man was staring at him with a bored expression, though his eyes never stopped moving about his face; analyzing. Secretly, he gripped his pen, having not picked it up, yet, holding it against the counter. He felt feeble under the other’s gaze, his blue eyes piercing through him, leaving him vulnerable. Shifting nervously on his feet, he cleared his throat softly.

            “U-Um . . .” he started, trailing off. Blushing heatedly, he internally scolded himself for stuttering. Normally, he wasn’t affected this much by it. Usually it went unnoticed by him, having dealt with it for so long. This person, however, held an airy dominance about him, and the adolescent would be lying if he said he didn’t find him attractive. Conflicted with wanting to look away, his intense eyes had him pinned.

            “Yeah,” he finally spoke, his voice sounding like smooth, bittersweet honey, contrasting greatly with the boy’s own fairly high voice, though he was glad it had smoothed our since puberty. It only mellowed out, though. The tone itself hadn’t changed much but a few steps lower. At least it didn’t crack as it once did.

            The man was glancing at the other’s name tag before meeting his flustered appearance with his own stoic one. “Morty,” he said, drawling out the sound as though he were seeing how it fit on his tongue.

            Very well, the brunet would say as his skin prickled with delight as the customer’s gruff tone sounded out each syllable. A glint of approval sparked through his icy blues before it was gone and he was speaking again.

            “Give me a plain coffee; medium,” he calmly ordered. The barista almost sighed with relief. He didn’t want to make another complicated drink. An Americano was hands down the easiest drink to make. So, with another soft, easy smile, he went about typing the order, punching numbers in the register.

            “That’ll b-be three twenty-five,” he stated, smiling politely, feeling more at ease as the other was complying and responding to him – albeit, not much, but enough to let his nerves calm. A sense of pride ran through him as he hardly stuttered, though, it was a short sentence, and he waited patiently as the man pulled out his wallet. He retrieved a twenty and handed it over to the boy behind the counter.

            “Keep the change,” he said as the brunet opened the register, making him halt, his breath caught in his throat. The brunet looked up, shocked.

            “W-What?” the teen asked, glancing from the bill in his hand, then looking back up.

            “Keep the change,” he reiterated, narrowing his eyes. Annoyance laced his tone, though the corner of his mouth curled softly up into a smirk as he gazed up one the adolescent’s flustered expression. Pushing passed it, the cashier still felt the need to decline.

            “B-But– But that’s an – th-that’s almost an – a s-s-seventeen-d-dollar tip,” Morty remarked, blushing as he stumbled over his lines. Cheeks flushed a darker shade when the man rolled his eyes. Disappointment washes over him, and he tried his best not to frown.

            “Yeah, so?” the customer replied, raising an eyebrow, almost as a challenge. Pausing, the teen gnawed the inside of his cheek as he looked at the currency. Lowering his hand just a fraction, he hesitated as he thought it over. Then he was working fast, making quick change before he dubiously laid it upon the counter between them, pushing it over. Glancing up again, there was an amused smirk on the other’s face as he looked at the boy with curiosity. A pang of hope leapt to his throat when he saw the smile, and his stomach did a roll where he stood.

            Instead of explaining, he didn’t speak another word as he turned around to go about making the cup of black coffee: simply pouring some of the dark liquid into a cup as he made the pot recently, needing a picker upper for himself. Though, he had sugar and creamer with his. Anything to drown out the coffee taste. Naturally, he paid for it with the tips he had been making all day. It was only enough to get him a small cup, even if he could’ve splurged a bit more with his employee discount, which had cost him a whole of three dollars.

            As he turned around, coffee topped off with a lid, he spotted the change still on the counter. When he gazed up at the man’s face, he noticed he had never taken his eyes off the adolescent, though he did shift over to lean partially against the display case where they held baked goods. Still, he simply watched Morty as he worked. The brunet blushed at the thought, not even noticing he was being silently observed. Pushing it away, however, he held the cup over the counter and smiled.

            “Have a n-nice day,” he stammered, his flushing face unwilling to remove its reddish hue. The man gripped the cup with one large hand, their finger twisted over each other in a tangle of awkwardness as the boy tried to situate them where only the customer was holding the cup. Blushing, he jerkily pulled his hand away. Still, he smiled shyly as he tried not to think about his burning face. The other who stood in front of the counter studied him; a glint in his eyes the boy couldn’t decipher. The man then smirked as he trailed his eyes a bit lower, over his lips fleetingly.

            “You, too, Morty,” he responded, backing away from the counter and making his way towards the door. Though, he stopped short, reeling back when he heard the cashier calling him.

            "Hey! You f-forgot your chi-change,” he stated meekly as he got the man’s attention. The customer glanced at the cash laid in the boy’s small hand, then stared at his tinged pink face.

            There was a silence that fell over them, drawing longer as the moment flew by. The barista grew steadily uncomfortable as he tried to hold the other’s gaze. His face grew hotter as he couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t blushing in front of the man before him.

            Finally, the customer chuckled as the cashier felt as though he couldn’t keep up his eye contact.

            “Cute.”

            That was the last thing the man said before he was out the door, leaving Morty a hot mess with doubts of the last few minutes even happening.


	4. Execration

            The boy stayed frozen, not being able to process what had happened until his phone timer went off, signaling it was his time to get off work. Finally, he stepped into gear after hearing the constant singing of the annoying default sound go off for several minutes. Still blushing, though not as severe.

            It wasn’t the comment that had his mind faltering. It was the questions that came after. The questions about what he was referring to when he said it. Was he calling Morty himself ‘cute’? Or did he find the fact he had been so insistent of givinghis change back ‘cute’? Whatever the reason, he thought something about the teen was cute.

            Though he wasn’t usually pinned on someone flirting with him, he found himself hung up on it. Although, he could hardly call ‘cute’ a flirtatious advance, especially since he didn’t understand the circumstances on what made him say it in the first place, or if it was even meant to be taken as such. There have been some instances where a few customers were friendlier than others. Now it was a rare occasion, and all of them hadn’t been his type. This, however. This was different.

            As he untied his apron, he let out a sigh, laying the garment down on the counter. Turning around, he grabbed the handle of the coffee pot that had been mostly drained. Going over to the sink, he poured the rest of the contents down the drain. He went about cleaning it, filling it with water and dish soap and scrubbing it clean with his hands. He tried to reoccur his thoughts with the task at hand, but he couldn’t seem to stop his drifting mind.

            Intense blue irises were burned into his retinas. He couldn’t stop thinking about them. About how they pierced into him, almost as though they could seep through his flesh and consume all he was. They were a shade of blue that resembled the sea in open air. Like the calm before the storm. Almost the shade of blue ice was depicted as, though a bit darker, and all the more dazzling. It was a shade of merciless cold; unforgiving, yet Morty only found them soothing. It was only the attitude that made him a bit intimidated, but he had a feeling it was more of a forefront. The crack of him smile told him so, even if the first few minutes told him otherwise.

            The cashier turned around, coffee pot in hand, drained of any leftover water and tap turned off as he began wiping the glass surface with a towel. Stopping his ministration, he eyed the money that tainted him as it lay on the counter. Frozen again, he bit his lip as he felt shame, guilt and a spectrum of other emotions erupt in him equivalent to disconcert, washing over his body in a wave of sickening heat. He ever thought he would earn so much as a two-dollar tip, mush less than an almost seventeen-dollar one. Never believed he deserved it, which is why he was so hesitant on taking it. Persistent on giving it back to its rightful owner.

            Huffing, he turned again to put the pot down, laying it upside down while he laid a rag on the undersides it was placed next to the other pots he had previously washed, having got a head start on cleanup that day. After having done this job for so long, it was basically  second nature, able to do it with his eyes closed as he was on autopilot.

            As he checked his phone, he saw he had a text message and it was already5:26. Panic swept over him, making him shove his phone back into his pocket. Almost turning away, he hesitated another moment before he was taking the tip from the counter. Before he could think too much about it, he hastily placed that in his pocket, too, then too the keys from the shelf.

            Morty locked the door behind himself into a half paced jog. He wasn’t fit, but he could run for a few minutes without getting too tired. When he was in front of his house, however, he was ready to fall into the grass and pass out. That wasn’t an option, though, he knew. His suspicions only served to be true when he opened the front door to find his parents standing there, waiting.

            His father had his arms crossed, his mother’s hands on her hips and both of them having fixated gazes in death glares. Pausing, he winces slightly as the door slammed with a loud thud, closing him off from the outside world. Trapping him in with beasts. Little ways away, he could see his sister sitting on the steps. A smug smile rested itself on her face and a gloating feel just radiated off of her.

            “Morty,” his mother started in a clipped tone, calling for his attention. He looked at her, blue eyes not even remotely as beautiful or comforting as the ones he stumbled upon into just a little under and hour ago.

            “Yes?” he asked, shifting nervously on his feet, trying his best not to stutter. Disappointment had always been his parent’s main emotion when talking with him.

            “Can you tell me why your sister is telling us that you’ve been stealing money from us?” his father asked, raising an eyebrow as if daring to answer the question wrong.

            The boy looked over at the girl with a flicker of his eyes, seeing only a glance of her red hair and an outline of her smug sneer. Just as quickly, he was looking back to his father’s eyes, a shade of green similar to his own.

            “No,”he answered calmly, trying to stand his ground.

            “Oh? So it wouldn’t hurt if we were to check your pockets, right?” his mother asked, cross if her arms as she raised her own blonde brows.

            “No,” Morty replied again, not thinking too much about it. Of course he wasn’t scared; he only had his phone, keys, and . . . Panic rose in his chest as his father stepped closer to him. Somehow, it had slipped his mind the outrageous tip the man at the coffee shop had given him.

            “Show us what’s in your pockets, then,” his father demanded, waiting as the boy blanched.

            Admitting defeat, he sighed and reached into his pockets. Out came his phone from his back pocket, and he held it in his left hand as he reached into his right pocket to retrieve his keys, hoping to any sort of god that he had been smart and put the money in his left pocket.

            Obviously, the hope died quickly as the coins rattled together, making his heart thud, and his being fill with dread. Try to pass it off as his keys jangling, it didn’t have the same noise as the clanking change. He only hoped now that he didn’t disturb the metal any further as they were critically placed.

            It was inevitable as he listened to the fall onto the floor. There was a clinking and the soft flutter of the paper-like currency as his keys caught awkwardly on his pocket material. His face burned as his father picked up the crumpled bills with a newfound rage.

            “I n-know what it looks l-like, b-but I c-can tell you th-that’s – that’s n-not yours,” Morty started, stuttering worse as he tried to explain himself, tried to stand up for himself. There was a possibility he was getting himself into more trouble, but he felt defensive this time, even though he usually didn’t care about money, especially if it were a tip. When he was about to elaborate further, his father cut him off before he got the chance.

            “Whose is it, then? The tooth fairy’s?” he mocked, raising an eyebrow to his son. That got a laugh out of his mother, causing him to go an even darker shade of red. Embarrassment washed over him as he frowned. He looked down, wondering why he felt defensive all of a sudden.

            Maybe it had to do with the repetition of the event: the routine of them taking money he worked hard to earn. Or perhaps it had to do with the fact he hadn’t worked hard at all. Barely opening his mouth, he hadn’t made the cup of coffee as the man tipped him handsomely. He didn’t feel as though he deserved it, so he was damned if his parents did. For everything they’ve done to him over the past years, they didn’t deserve a dime from him.

            His parents never once brought up getting a divorce, though he knew full and well they both wanted one. They fought and argued all the time, only setting aside their differences when they were interrogating the boy. At times, they would become violent. That was when they were so enraged with each other and needed to let it out. There’s where Morty came in, and he was helpless when it came to his parents laughing at his dispense.

            “Seriously, Morty, did you think you were going to get away with it?” the blonde derided, walking out of the room, followed by her husband while the boy grimaced. At a loss, he was feeling dejected with being the family’s therapeutic arrangement.

            “Yeah, Morty. Did you think you were going to get away with it?” his sister taunted, satirizing him as he looked up at her. He scowled, still frowning.

            “Y-You know, S-Summer, j-just because Mom and Dad are d-done arguing does–doesn’t mean you have to b-be a bitch,” he snapped, feeling his frustration of today take a turn for the worst. The older sibling flared down at him as he was still quite a bit shorter than her, even given had had a few years to grow. She smacked him in the face, leaving a stinging hand print as the force hit him hard. As he reached up to run over the sore mark, he was being pulled forward by the front of his shirt. The redhead pulled him to her face as she leaned in close, whispering dangerously low.

            “Listen, you little brat,” she warned, glaring harshly at him. Her eyes were just as blue astheir mother’s, yet he found them nothing compared to the man’s whom he had only met recently. Whereas theirs were filled with hatred, the customer’s had been kind, even if not at first. Before he had the chance to get lost in his memories, his sister wastalking again.

            “Say one more word and I’ll tell Mom and Dad what you really get up to when you leave the house,” she bit out. Something about the way she emphasized the word made it seem more suggestive than him just going to work, even though he knew for a fact she didn’t know about his job.

            “Oh, y-yeah?” And w-what do I d-do?” he questioned, trying for nonchalant, even if he did had a bad feeling about it. Still, he raised his own brows as he had a staring match with hissister. She only smiled sinisterly, making him shrink back.

            “Going out early; coming home late. It seems as though you’re trying to hide something,” she commented, drawling our the words in a teasingly smug manner. “If I just suggest a possibility of what you’re doing, then you know what they’ll do?” she asked aloud, smirking evilly. Morty knew what they would do, but his sister was so insistent on forging the thought into his head.

            “They’re going to kick you out, and really let you have it,” she clarified, the younger’s expression turning into one of bewilderment, his eyes widening as he looked at her with shock and fear. This was not the girl he grew up with. That much had already knew from the past years, but seeing how much vile in her words made his stomach twist in horrified knots.

            “Y-You w-w-wouldn’t,” he tried for, almost pleading as terror laced his tone.

            “You don’t know what I would do,” she irritably replied, simply letting him go as she straightened herself out, walking out of the room with her phone in hand. She didn’t turn back, only going about her way as Morty stood at the front door, feeling more alone than he ever had.

            Sighing, he shoved his things back into his pockets as he walked upstairs, going to his room. It was the first door to the right, the smallest, and he walked through the entrance and closed the door. Already angry, he was feeling a little more gait with the fact he still didn’t have a lock, even if he was almost 18. Sure, he could just buy one, but he didn’t know how to set it up. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. His birthday was soon and he wasn’t going to stay at the house longer than needed. The month after he turned 18, he’s gone.

            To clear his mind, he shook his head, walking across the room and grabbing his laptop before flopping down on his bed. Too tired to untie his shoes, he forcefully kicked them off, pushing his toes to the opposing heel. He felt thoroughly exhausted. This day being an eventful one. Opening his laptop, he logged onto his YouTube account. Of course he didn’t have his own channel, only merely being one of the many other people who simply watched other’s content instead of making his own.

            Determination set it as he scrolled through his ‘Watch Later’ page, scanning over the many videos under he found what he was in the mood for. A video of nothing but piano and the soft sound of rain was on his screen now. Once more, he sighed, laying on his bed as he kept the lid half opened, cracked just enough. It allowed him to listen to the video, so he dimmed the screen, rolling onto his back as he stared at the ceiling.

            Stress left his body in waves of relieved tension as the music filled the air. Only was it then he allowed himself to relax in the safety of his own room. Then, he rolled onto his side, looking across to the blank wall decorated with a hamper and a lonely bookshelf. The wooden case held nothing on it except for the random objects he collected over the years. Looking at it now filled him with dim pride and vague accomplishment as he couldn’t help but feel lonely as he curled in on himself.

            The music sped up, the rain pounding harder from its electronic echo. A faint grumbling of thunder came from the speakers, something that used to calm him as he thought the world was just having a bad da. It used to seem as though he wasn’t alone. Now, it only reflected his own mood as it slowly grew more prominent. Almost real saved for the muted static. Instead of sympathy, he felt himself more relating to the angry rage of clouds he painted in his mind. Dark, grey and brooding. Grief filled him as it had so many times before. Now, more frequent than ever.

            A loud clap of thunder rolled off his skin as he gazed at the off-white wall. Then the weight of everything crashed upon him when his eyes grew heavy with tears. Finally, he let himself break down; let himself feel the hatred he had for his family. He was sick of them. Tired of everyone thinking of him as just a waste of space. Softly sobbing, he buried his face into his pillow, crying with self-loathing because he knew he was stronger than this. Sometimes being strong isn’t enough, though. He looked over then, glancing at the spherical object on his bookshelf. It was probably a ball, or a marble, yet it still reminded him of the icy, endless oceans of the customer’s eyes, even if the color was all wrong.

            Persuaded by the thought, he flopped onto his back, wiping his tears away as he started thinking of him. If he couldn’t be strong for himself, then he was going to be strong for the nameless man that somehow made him forget about everything that was happening around him. Other thoughts were thrown into the dust and it’s only been an hour.

            Curiosity poked at him because he was different from the people he had met. His vibrant blue hair was something that has struck out to him. It was something he found odd as he knew the man had to be at least a decade older than him. Yet, he still dyed his hair. Or, at least he thought as much. What threw him into doubts was the fact his eyebrows had been the same color. For the time he knew him, which wasn’t really much to work with as he only knew his face and outer appearance, he didn’t seem like the type of person to dye their hair – much less their brows to match.

            It was a pondering situation. With that thought in mind, he furrowed his own brows as he continued to think about it longer. Nothing new came to mind as he found himself being washed with fatigue. The day had really worn him out and was taking its toll. Drowsiness swept over him, putting his thoughts on hold, though he kept his eyes open. He remained awake, looking up at the ceiling. It wasn’t too long before he let them flutter closed, breathing in deeply, exhaling and he was fast asleep.


	5. Morning Rush

            Morty woke up the next day at his alarm, which rang at4:30in the morning. Groggily, he sat up, afraid if he were to remain laying down he would go back to sleep. The constant ringing drove him to click it off, squinting against the too bright light of his phone screen. There was still a notification on his phone, so h shrugged, checking the message. It was only his phone company telling him that he had been using a sufficient amount of data and advised him to cut down. He rolled his eyes, knowing it wasn’t his fault. It was Summer’s as she had been glued to her phone ever since she got a new one.

            He simply turned off his phone, sighing softly as he got out of bed, taking off his clothes from the day before as he had slept in them. Pausing, he hesitated in changing. Running a thank through his hair, debated on whether to take a shower or not. It was early morning, so he was more lenient not to do so, but he knew he should. Before he could move, he was glancing through his soft curly hair again as he furrowed his brows.

            Over the years, he noticed how much his face hadn’t really changed. It was still rounded and pudgy, even if he was in the slender side. His nose was small, straight and rounded at the end. Green eyes stared back at him which were framed with delicate flashes and beat eyebrows. Lips were plump, not thin, and he smiled to see his nearly fully straight teeth. Thankful he never needed braces, he still could pick out the unevenness, though it was very subtle. All in all, he was quite pleased with his features, although he still wore baggy shirts to accommodate for his anxiety.

            Shaking his head, he walked out of his bedroom door with a change of clothes. The brunet walked across the hall to the bathroom and switched on the light. Closing the lid, he put his clothes on it. Finally, he took off his boxers and stepped into the shower. He ran the faucet, waiting until it was warm enough, but not too hot, until he switched it to the shower setting. Having braces for it, he didn’t mind the slight chill that splashed against his back as he was still bent over. It would be warm again soon enough.

            When it did, he straightened up, running his head under the flowing water as he did so. It was relaxing as he closed his eyelids to the warm spray. Tilting his head back, he sighed, knowing he couldn’t waste time. After a pause, he grabbed the bottle of soap, squeezing some into his hand before rubbing it into his body, working the dirt out of his pores and skin. His fingers glided against the soft flesh of his face as he washed there as well. The wetness allowed a smoother path.

            He washed his hair with his conditioner and shampoo, making sure it was all the way rises out before he was stepping out of the shower. Turning off the water, and grabbing a towel, he was glad he was clean before wrapping it around himself and ridding himself of the residue from his shower.

            The towel dropped to the ground after he shook his hair out with it. Grabbing his shirt, he pulled it over his head. It was another uniform shirt that was the bright shade of yellow he liked. Then he slid on his boxers. His denim skinny jeans followed suit as he tugged them up his legs. He leaned over to pick up his used towel and threw it in the hamper in the corner of their bathroom as he tried to button his jeans one handed. Ultimately, he failed, using both hands to zip them up.

            As he walked into his room, he searched for his shoes, his gaze falling to where he left them from the day before. After grabbing a clean pair of ankle socks, he untied his shoes, slipping on his black and white converse, straightening out his shirt. He looked out the window, debating on taking a jacket. Knowing his luck, it’ll probably be hot and cold if he took it or not. Finally, he decided against it. If it were to become wholly on his way to work, or when he came back, he knew he could handle it. It wouldn’t be cold in the café. The ovens were always going on the morning as they did sell pastries and the sort.

            After a quick check to make sure he had his keys, phone, and wallet, he walked downstairs, heading out.

            The few blocks to the café were quiet. Every so often he would check the analog clock on his phone, making sure he had enough time to get there. A slight breeze passed through, but nothing too cold, yet. There wasn’t a need to rush, anyway. It was5:06and his job technically startedin four minutes, though his hours didn’t officially start until5:30. Opening hours didn’t start until6 o’clock, anyhow. When he got there, he would have plenty of time to start making pots of coffee and put on his dark red apron. He took the time to start making batches of sweets, and he was working with making brownies when he heard another worker come through the door.

            Looking up as the door to the back opened, he saw that he was partnered with the laziest worker on their set. Other employees would be there soon enough, which was the thought he let coerce him into the back to mix the batter. It was then poured into a nonstick pan, and he went about making more cookies, brownies, and some donuts. When he finally checked the times again, he saw he had fifteen minutes to open up shop and get the display ready.

            The sweet aroma coming from the oven was enough to make his mouth water. Walking over, he took out some of the pans that were ready, waiting a few minutes before cutting them up and setting them into nice, neat rows along the trays they had in the glass case our front.

            As he walked out front, he stopped short when he saw his coworker, Jeremy, already slacking as he was sitting at a booth, not really paying attention to the people that were already waiting outside. Meanwhile, the wall clock read5:56. It was still a few minutes till open time, so he shrugged as he asked back into the kitchen after putting the trays in their respected places with his near writing categorizing which were which. After getting the sweets out of the oven, and onto their trays, he took a notice of the clock. It was already 10 minutes passed opening, yet it was still quiet in the other room.

            The wall clock read 5:56. It was still a few minutes till open, so he shrugged as he walked back to the kitchen after putting the trays in their respective areas with his neat writing categorizing which were which. After getting the sweets out of the oven, and onto their trays, he took notice to the clock. It was already 10 minutes past opening, yet it was still quiet in the other room.

            Along with carrying multiple trays, he carried a face of puzzlement, confusion written on his features as he walked through the doors. His eyes widened as he saw the other employee sleeping and people were angrily waiting outside. Rushing, he put the trays in quickly and heading towards the door. IN the passing, he yanked on Jeremy’s arm, trying to wake him up. He unlocked the doors, smiling sheepishly as he opened them to the people who stood outside.

            “I’m s-sorry to keep y-you w-waiting,” he said to everyone, holding the door for them to come through. Looking over, he saw the young man was still sitting in the booth, acting as though none of this was his business. The teen rolled his eyes, sighing ruefully as he was going to have to be here until 10.

            He walked behind the counter, smiling politely as he started taking customer’s orders, watching as his coworker finally get up and started heading behind the counter, too, manning the other register. A bored expression was displayed on his face, and his voice was less than enthusiastic.

            Another employee barged in through the back, an excuse on her tongue as the petite blonde told them why she was running late. Morty simply waved her off, knowing she wouldn’t come later if it weren’t for something unimportant. Her name was Bonnie. She was probably his favorite worker, having understood his stutter when she trained him all those years ago. Always having something minor to talk about, she made the conversation roll as she had a gravitating personality. As extroverted as they come while the boy remained his reserved self, though he still felt himself on good terms with the girl.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he went back to making the patron’s order: a latte with a shot of espresso. A smile made its way to his face as he turned around to hand the person their drink. The system went like that: taking the order of the next person, and their money, making change and then going about making their drink, and/or getting their pastry.


	6. Tainted

           It had been a few days since the blue-eyed man had showed up to the café, although Morty couldn’t be the judge of that as his schedule had been a bit weird for the past few days. School was being let out for the weekend, so he worked odd hours. Today was Sunday, and he had to work the whole three shifts which seemed to be one of the highlights of his week.

            He sighed, glanced at the 25-year-old he was working with. It was about 4:15 in the afternoon, so he knew customers would start becoming sparse as time went on. Stretching as he stepped back, he turned towards Vanessa, her black hair in a thick ponytail, rapidly coming loose. He cleared his throat to get her attention.

            “Is it all – alright if I use th-the r-restroom?” he asked. Smiling politely, she nodded at him.

            “Yeah, I’ve got the register,” she assured, waving him off. The restrooms were placed on the other side of the room as the door and the raised platforms were on. He walked down the steps and crossed the room, his bladder heavy. Just as he closed the door, the bell chimed above the glass one, sounding out through the store. The girl up front could handle it, though, so he shrugged.

            He went into the stall, not wanting anyone to come in and see him as the urinal. A familiar, gruff voice was speaking as he was in the middle of unbuttoning his pants.

           “I’ll have a plain coffee,” they said, sounding almost bored. A rush of heat flooded the boy’s cheeks as he placed a face to the voice. It was the man from a few days ago. Conflicted, he wanted to turn around and go out to see him, though he had to relieve his bladder – as in now – so he didn’t see a way in doing so.

            There was a sudden rush to do his business, hurrying it along as much as he could. He shook himself off, pulling up his pants and boxers back up over his region as he flushed the toilet. As he walked out of the stall, he contemplated just walking out, but he knew he shouldn’t as he went over to wash his hands. It said among the door that every employee must follow the policy of washing their hands. Not to mention it was especially disgusting if a person in his line of work didn’t follow basic hygiene.

            Although, he hurried there, too, washing the soap off and not even bothering to dry his hands properly, wiping them off on his jeans as he stepped outside the washroom.

            The café was empty as he looked around it. Confusion was written on his face before he turned his gaze out the window. The man was walking away from the shop, almost looking irritated. The adolescent sighed inaudibly, walking towards the counter. He grabbed a towel, drying his hands with it as his pants hadn’t done the right job. As he peered at his coworker, she seemed agitated, her face bordering on a scowl and her lips twisted up in a miffed attitude.

            “What’s up?” Morty asked, furrowing his brows.

            “Nothing. That guy I just serves was just rude,” she explained, jumping up to sit on the counter before she was crossing her arms. The teen paused, looking at her with dully suppressed shock.

            “How s-s-so?” he tried to question nonchalantly, putting the rag down as he leaned onto the opposite side of her against the coffee counter, intently awaiting her reply.

            “He walked in, saw me, and looked a tad pissed. Like, I’m sorry if you were expecting someone different? He didn’t even bother looking at me during any of our two-second conversation. Just stayed on his phone the entire time. Orders a plain coffee and doesn’t even say anything as I give it to him. Doesn’t do anything but seem irritated by me. I know I did a decent job; given the fact he was even paying attention to me in the first place,” she said, making subtle hand gestures and rolling her eyes as she concluded. “God, what an asshole, right?” she tried for, finishing her rant by leaping down from the counter and walking towards the display. She bent down to get a cookie, biting into it with a muffled viciousness.

            The burnet stood there, perplexed. As he continued to sit there, he furrowed his brows, pondering what Vanessa just told him, scrunching his nose in confusion. This couldn’t be the same man. The one he met was actually pretty decent and tipped him generously. Biting his lip, he still stood, thinking. The girl was perched on the counter again, tapping away on her phone. Obviously preoccupied, he didn’t see the need to press matters forward. This didn’t stop his wondering mind, however.

            It had to have been him, though. He heard him speaking. It was the same voice. Same low tone. Muffled due to the bathroom door, but he knew it had to have been him. He saw him walking away from the coffee shop, cup in hand as his hair blew in the wind, even though it was neatly styled.

            Turning around, he walked to the back of the shop where they baked their goods. A tray of brownies still sat on the counter. Morty smiled softly as he crossed the kitchen, picking up a spatula and scooping them out of the pan and put them on a plate. Nibbling on a brownie, he walked back into the actual shop, holding the plate as he did so.

            “Hey, V-Vanes-ssa. W-We had extra, just to l-let you know. J-Just in case you –” he stuttered out, looking up, expecting to find the girl sitting on the counter, mindlessly on her phone like how he left her. Instead, he found her standing behind the register while the man with neatly wild blue hair was in front of the register, making him almost drop the plate in shock.

           Glancing between the two, he blushed lightly as the customer settled his eyes upon him. He smiled shyly, waving in a similar fashion. “H-Hey,” he muttered softly, looking down as he blushed further as to reduced his nerves. Gazing him at him, he saw a pleased look in his eye. Before he could comment any further, he noticed something wrong with this picture. A cup was placed between the both of them. He furrowed his eyebrows as he frowned.

            “Is – Is s-some – is there a problem?” the brunet asked, walking closer as he set the plate down, though he still handled his with his right hand.

            “No,” the man answered in the same space as Vanessa, who spoke up in an exasperated tone.

            “Yes. He’s complaining because he ordered a plain cup of coffee and I gave him a plain cup of coffee,” she explained, looking frustrated as she turned around. Leaning against the counter with her arm, she glared at the customer where she was facing in between them. The teen glanced to the man, seeing his equally frustrated expression, though it was off. There was an underlying tone to it which the boy couldn’t place. Not in that moment, anyway, for the patron was subtle when showing emotion, something he learned the hard way.

            The cup still sat in the place between them, and he narrowed his eyes slightly, walking forward. Furrowing his brows again, he took the cup in hand, and brought it up to his nose to take a whiff of the coffee in it. The strong drink was not his favorite. In fact, he hated the smell, and taste, of coffee all around, which is why he crinkled his nose in slight disgust, trying not to shiver at the pungent odor. Still, her knew what he was doing as he placed the scent.

            “It’s n-not – it has sh-sugar in it,” he mumbled, informing both of them while mainly talking to himself. Putting the cup down, he looked to the customer with an apologetic smile. “I’m s-sorry. Sh-She’s new,” the teen tried to cover up, making an excuse for the girl, though he knew she has worked at the shop for almost a year now.

            “Morty, I can assure you: I did not put sugar in that cup,” the employee stated, gesturing to the cup in accusation and crossing her arms. The boy gave her a pleading glance, trying not to start an argument. Situations like this were never his to handle. It never happened to him before, so he wasn’t one to deal with conflict. He watched her quiet down, still glaring as she crossed her arms and look at the man who still stood there. Morty turned to him, setting his brownie down upon a napkin.

             “I c-can make you another – another cup – if – if you’d like,” he offered, smiling shyly.

             “Sure,” the man agreed, looking at the boy with an expectant manner. The barista caught a slight flicker of his eyes, spotting them glance at the girl beside the teen. Taking the hint, he turned to his coworker as he thought of an excuse for her to leave the room.

            “U-Um, h-how about y-you start c-cleaning the p-pans?” the adolescent suggested, though he was never good at telling people what to do – even if it were for the sake of the tension in the air – so his statement came out as an uncertain question. He was blushing, smiling sheepishly. She seemed to get the point – or just didn’t want to be in the same room as the customer. As she looked at the man, she did so with a stretched, forced smile.

            “Gladly,” Vanessa bit out sarcastically before she whirled around, her hair almost hitting the younger. As though she couldn’t get out fast enough, she walked briskly though the back. It was evident she was angry as the clanking of pans could be heard loudly as the door flipped open and closed a few times. Finally, it was muffled as it rested closed, the teen’s attention turning back to the customer. He blushed as he caught his eyes, his gaze unwavering as it hasn’t left him once more. There was an amused smile resting on his face, making the teen grow hot. Looking down, he grabbed the cup he previously had.

            “Um – I – I’m r-really sorry about th-that,” he commented, going to the sink to pour out the unwanted coffee and throw the cup away. He grabbed another, looking at the pot which had just enough for one more cup, and then still a bit left over so the clumped mixture will still be left in the pot.

            Taking the glass from its place in the maker, he stirred it slightly, making sure it had enough potency throughout the entire drink. Pouring it into a clean cup, he topped it off with a lid before turning around to the man, smiling shyly as he passed it over.

            “Not your fault,” he reminded, rolling his eyes softly. The taller smiled greatly, reaching behind him for what Morty assumed was his wallet before the teen called out.

            “N-No. On the h-house,” he went to said, holding his hands up as if to halt his movements. The customer looked at him, chuckling lightly, making the boy’s heart pound loud in his chest and his face heat up.

            “You’ve been more tolerable than her,” he said simply, smiling as he put the cup down and had fifteen dollars out faster than he could blink, already handing it to the boy before he could refuse. Morty stood there, his face burning as he bit his lip, furrowing his brows again.

            “I d-don’t think . . .” he started, though the customer was rolling his eyes and putting in the boy’s wrists, taking his hand as he placed it so gently in his palm. Fingers ran across the soft skin on the back of the teen’s hand, the rough pads tickling him as the man curled his hand back. Repressing a shiver, he looked up from under his lashes, blushing heavily. It was almost heavy in his hand as he held it. Hesitating, he lowered his hand and smiled up at the man. “Th-Thank you,” he resolved, feeling nervously awkward as his face was red hot.

            The man only nodded, picking up his cup and walking towards the door. Seemingly like déjà vu, he looked back when Morty called after him.

            “H-Hey – um – w-would you l-like a brownie? Th-They’re – There’s j-just a couple left, s-so . . .” he stuttered, trailing off when the man walked back to the counter, inquisitive about what the younger was offering. Furrowing his brows, he was looking hesitant until he saw the boy’s face. A nervously encouraging smile was timid on his face as he held the plate up until the man took one.

            When he did, the teen gave him a radiant smile, looking pleased and the man only wished he could see it again. He offered his own soft smile, looking down at the sweet in his hand. Glancing up, it was obvious he was still slight doubtful.

            “It’s n-not too s-s-sweet – if – if – if that’s what you’re w-wonder – you were thinking,” he explained, setting the plate down.

            “It’s not,” the blue-eyed man replied. A vague tone was in his voice that made the cashier loo up at him with curiosity. The customer only smiled tightly, lips stretched taut over his teeth. As his eyes roamed over the boy again, he paused, his turning into a much realer one, amusement clouding his eyes instead of the almost defeated one moments ago.

            “You’ve got a little . . .” the man started, trailing off as his hand started reaching for his own face before he thought better of it. Instead, he lifted his hand to the brunet’s face, the boy standing in complete stillness as he didn’t know what to do.

            All he could do was try to regulate his breathing as his hand came closer, his eyes widening when his thumb raked across the corner of his mouth. There was a stutter to his breathing, his lungs momentarily stopping. It baffled him how a simple touch could feel so warm, and cause his cheeks to feel with liquid heat.

            Obviously, it was this moment the man seemed to understand what he was doing, and his smile fell, his lips parting as his gaze slid to the barista’s left. Now he was gazing to his mouth, and the teen felt air escaping him. His lungs losing the ability to function properly. Everything came to a halt, and Morty could only stare with wide eyes, his heart racing, but his mind faltering as he couldn’t even process what was happening, or even if he wanted to stop it.

            Before he could make the decision for himself, the taller was meeting his gaze steadily. They stood there for a while, Morty barely breathing, and both not moving. After a moment, the other seemed to draw out of the reverie he was in as he blinked, the action seemingly breaking him from his chance as he blinked rapidly a few more times. It was then he was stepping back, his eyes unwavering, even as the look of unsureness clouded his eyes. Even being a subtle as it was, the boy could tell. The way his brows flicked inwards and his eyes narrowed.

            Gathering himself, he was off and gone, fleeing from the store faster than Morty could’ve processed.

            Wonder filled him. Thoughts of when he would see the mysterious man again flooded into his mind. Something within the teen was not letting him focus on one thing not involving the mere thought of the patron. Not without the fabrication sneaking up on him as though he was someone Morty couldn’t live without now he’s met him.

            Alone again, he picked up his own brownie again, biting into it and indulging in the slight warmth it provided. Sighing, he wiped a few crumbs from his mouth as he picked the plate back up. He started to walk back to the kitchen, stopping short when he found the money the man gave him under it. Biting his lip, he tucked it into his pocket as he knew if his coworker were to have seen it, she would either have a fit, or speculate he was taking money from the register. Both odds he equally didn’t want.

            Now he walked into the kitchen, seeing her calmly washing the dishes as he had earbuds in, bobbing her head to the rhythm of whatever song she was listening to. Sighing again, he put the plate on the island, glancing at the clock. It was 4:59, and the store was going to close soon. So, he went to the front while he scribbled down a note for her to take some brownies home if she’d like. He went about cleaning the coffee pots, making sure they were neat as they lay before the counter on their tops, rags and tidying up. Now, the thought of the man was creeping up on him again. He was already in a dream-like haze before, and not gave him all the more reason to be in one.

            Something about his crystal blue eyes this time really struck something within the teen as he had expressed himself through his facial features even more, though only slightly. Perhaps he wasn’t having a good day then. Or maybe it was to do with the fact the adolescent had only picked up on them now.

            Whatever the case was, he thought about his smile that he looked at the boy with: amused, though it seemed borderline fond. It made a grin creep its way onto the boy’s own face, feeling a new sense of emotion wash over him. There was something foreign and familiar about it, though he wasn’t able to place it right now. Shrugging, he packed up his stuff so he would return tomorrow, only hoping the man would be there again.


	7. Identification**

            Classifying his sexuality had been hard in school. He was alright for the first couple of years in middle school, thinking he was straight, just like the other boys his age. Being gay wasn’t uncommon, but he had never been exposed to something like that except for the grownups that lived in his neighborhood. He had witnessed a gay couple and a lesbian one. Never had he realized teenagers could be attracted to the same gender. It just never occurred to him before. So, as time went on, he believed he was in the majority of people that liked the opposite gender, which was true for the most part.  
  
            He couldn’t pin point the exact time his mind started wondering, but it was around the time he was transitioned from 9thto 10thgrade, maybe even a little before. He didn’t realize it at first, considering he had a crush on a girl at the time, though he wasn’t sure it that’s if what it really was. In some sense, he supposed he was trying to reassure himself he did have something to identify himself with. It acted as a crutch, as to keep him safely secure.  
  
            Not thinking about it too much, he had grown out of his crush in a few months’ time. As a curious pubescent bot, however, he was bound to watch porn sooner or later. Like all boy, he had started with lesbian, having previously assumed himself as a straight male. It’s what he thought his body wanted.  
  
            It was something he told himself worked for a few months. Really, it hadn’t. The first couple videos were mostly spent in confusion. Lost on how to masturbate, and not understanding what the women were doing. A long four months later, he was getting the hang of it, but he was still confused why he could never get harder than a semi. When he was enough for a full on erection, he could never get to climax. Confused, he also wondered why he never felt any pleasure from indulging. Perhaps it was just something about them?  
  
            With the countless hours of watching it, and growing tired of the same old thing, he stumbled upon a video of a straight ‘couple’. Not knowing what to expect, he had clicked on it. Somehow, it was better. He started looking at how the woman was never really into it as much as the guy was, or vis versa. It was either that, or they were too into it. A few videos made him cringe, and even more made him want to gag, but there was a decency in amateur videos, so he stuck with that criteria.  
  
            As he watched a particularly good one, he found himself actually close – having never really touched himself during any of the pornography he ever watched, only watching as it never did anything to him – and he hadn’t understood why before. It was only after that he knew as it was a video of a man and a woman going at it doggy style. The woman hadn’t done much except make a small noise every now and again simply because she was gagged, but he really focused on the way the man had moved. Something about his dominating thrusts made a shiver run down his spine.  
  
            It was then he came to the conclusion of why he was so into it, and he slammed his laptop closed, refusing to watch it for a week straight, not wanting to open up the possible risks for himself. Truth be told, he was scared of his parents, and his mother’s religious values were more prejudice than he saw fit. Discrimination against gay people was what he had known from his mother, even from an early age as he had witnessed her throwing nasty looks to the two homosexual relationships he’s ever came into contact with.  
  
            Only coming around to it when he needed a stress relieve, he clicked on a random video, not really paying attention until he saw a figure thrusting into what seemed to be an invisible person. When he went to click off of it, he made another realization. It was then he heard the needy, breathy whimper of the figure and the desperate moans of another person, and he became aware the guy in the video was being thrust into from behind.  
  
            He was hard in mere moment, feeling a rush of blood go straight to his cock as he tried to get a grasp on himself. It had hurt as he did so, but he didn’t care as his brain was too worried about getting off than anything. It had been slightly more uncomfortable than tolerable, but he had forced passed him, pushing his limits as he desired the need to come. Needed to know if he could. How it felt.  
  
            He watched the bottom get pounded into. Although the audio was delayed, it still had him hard and desperate. Pumping his cock in time with the audio instead of the actual video, he found himself becoming more pleasured by the sounds than anything: the high-pitched, slight whimpers of the guy on the bottom along with the sharp sound of skin slapping against skin.  
  
            They were guys, but he accepted it as he tried to keep his noises to a minimum. Fisting his leaking erection in his hand, he gasped quietly in the late of night in his dark room, more of pain rather than pleasure, but he was hopeless. Morty had felt the pressure in his stomach he had only read about in bordering mature books he used to read, and the kind he only thought about. His thighs shook as tremors of pleasure sparked through him, accompanied by the need to put an end to his torture as it drowned out everything else, along with his determination he could do it.  
  
            Head thrown back in a silent moan, he felt a heat like no other build at the base of his groin. Shuddering, he felt himself needing something he couldn’t get. It wasn’t long before one of the men in the video had let out a particularly sharp breath and he knew what he need. Frantically, he listened for any other noise as he tried to push himself to a climax. His face contoured in painful satisfaction as he ran his hand jerkily up and down himself, though his sobs barely ran out as it hurt to no extent as he grew closer to the edge.  
  
            Then he heard it. A guttural moan that had him thrusting up into his own fist and curling his toes as he threw his hand over his mouth, though he only took in a sharp breath as he was coming weakly over his own stomach, his pleasure peaking at he came in spurts, his cock feeling as though it controlled him as he yanked his hand away, too pained to hold onto it any longer as he had his eyes shut.  
  
            There he laid that night. Covered in his own come, he took in deep breaths to calm his racing heart and his overwhelmed body. His legs shook as his muscled went through spasms, and he felt lightheaded with the exceeding pleasure as he had never come before from watching any sort of explicit content, though it was a more painful experience than he thought.  
  
            A few things were different now. For one, he doesn’t watch porn anymore – not believed that only one’s lover should look upon them in such a vulnerable state. Of course, sex had become a more casual thing over the years, and he had no problem with that, but he didn’t want those things for himself. Not to mention the weird sounds and phrases he would hear. There were some weird positions, and more than unpleasant grunts and growls. Plus, scavenging hours for finding the right video was hard, and the benefits were not worth it. It was just a huge turnoff. No longer did he feel the need to jerk off as he had his job to keep himself busy, and he didn’t want to go through the entire experience again. There was no time to, and he felt himself no longer stressed as he had been, or as problematic. All in all, he had multiple reasons not to touch himself.  
  
            It was still an important experience as it was from that moment on, he found himself looking at guys in a whole new light. Before long, he had come to the terms that he was gay. He didn’t have a problem with it, only trying to think of how many boys at his schools were actually cute, though he couldn’t think of any that truly caught his eye. Apparently he had a very high standard, though he understood why, none of the guys at his school didn’t seem mature enough for him to ever want, no matter how decent looking. That’s when he turned to older people.  
  
            He had never felt an attraction to an older person, necessarily, only having a great admiration for people with older looking features. He couldn’t tell where this attractive was placed, but he knew that he liked the grooved of worry lines, or the crinkles a man would get if he laughed too much. It said something about their personality. Something being told about their character without them needing to explain their whole life.  
  
            This was different, however.  
  
            With the man, the boy was clueless on his age until he lifted his eyebrow. From then on, all the other humanly emotions he expressed himself with had Morty looking at him more thoroughly as he wanted so badly to decipher his age. However, his face was otherwise aged like a statue. Constructed from marble. The boy admired him in a way he hadn’t with other people before. It was smooth, yet refined with him getting older. He had no laughing lines, or wrinkled by his eyes when he smiled. There were no worried creases, nor was his mouth carved in deep, grooved frown. No bags, or dark circles, nor were there age spots.  
  
            His face was simply chiseled in a fine way that didn’t seem as though it aged at all. It made it seem as though it was aged to perfection, marbled with stone, and Morty was completely enthralled with it, infatuated the man with the striking features had given him more than a passing glance. It was crazy as he didn’t even know his name, but he didn’t care.  
  
            The teen was enamored by him.


	8. Birthday

            Morty lay across his bed in a diagonal fashion, feeling pressure on his bladder, though he was unwilling to get up. Having just gotten in from working a double shift, he was exhausted. His feet were in pain from standing all day, and his face for having masked a forced smile as he wasn’t particularly excited to see anyone the whole day.

            Now, in the comfort of his own room, he looked crestfallen. Even more so as he hadn’t seen the man all day – or for the whole week – and he couldn’t see him tomorrow after already requesting the day off, more for his feet than anything. Any other thing to look forward to would be the fact it was his birthday. Eighteenth birthday, at that.

            Finally, the need to relieve himself was too much, and he was standing up with a huff, walking in a frenzied rush to get to the bathroom before he soiled himself. He got there in time for him to pull his pants down just enough and finally let himself go.

            A door slammed as he finished, and he became confused as he pulled his pants back to his hips and zipped them, buttoning them briskly. As he opened the bathroom door, he looked out as cautiously as he could. What he wasn’t prepared for was to see his family outside with glares on all their faces, though Summer had a triumphant smirk on hers.

            “Where were you?” his father interrogated, pushing open the door, forcing it passed the boy. It hit Morty’s shoulder, though no one seemed to pay any mind as he absentmindedly rubbed at the now sore spot.

            “I’ve b-been in my r-room,” he replied. A panicked look came across his sister’s face, though his mother wouldn’t have it.

            “Don’t lie to us. Where were you?” the blonde asked, narrowing her eyes harshly. The small burnet felt a rush of nerves boil over him, though he tried to remain calm. There must’ve been another argument, and his mother must’ve been the one to get really angry this time. Something his father said must’ve tipped her over the edge.

            “I – I’ve been s-s-st-study-studying,” the teen tried for, his voice becoming shaky. Coughing, he tried to cover it up, though he knew they could see straight through his façade. He wasn’t a good liar. Never has been, and his stutter only made him seem guiltier. “At – At th-the library,” he added as an afterthought to sell his story, but he knew his parents didn’t buy it. That, or they were just looking for a reason to get their anger out.

            His mother reached forward and struck him, creating a cruel sting in the wake of the shape of her hand. “I said, ‘Don’t lie to us’.” she snapped, whispering out the threat in a vindictive tone, refusing to believe him and seeking the truth.

            “I’m n-not l-l-lying,” he croaked, feeling a strong urge to look at his sister for help. To see if she had any more compassion for him, but he had stopped seeking help from her a long time ago. Now, the only glance made her way was to find her looking at her phone, not paying any attention to what was happening around her. Or she simply didn’t care her little brother was being physically beaten. For all he knew, it was probably both.

            It didn’t surprise him. Ever since the day they started hitting both of them, his sister had tried every chance she got to put the blame all on him. They were easily persuaded as they hated his condition. Summer was their first child; their daughter. Morty was their broken child, and – as they saw it – he needed to toughen up. From that point forward, she was no longer his sister, and they were no longer his family.

            “Tell us the truth, or so help me,” she threatened, trailing off as she became lower in pitch. She only now stared at him, daring him to keep going with the tale he had been telling.

            “Th-That i-is the truth-th,” he persisted, voice weak. Unprepared, he yelped as his mother pushed him against the door frame. His back was being uncomfortably pressed to the unleveled surface of the wood, his shoulder blade being flattened against it rather painfully. She had ahold of his neck, her nails daggering into the skin of his throat as she had her hand wrapped around it, making his eyes widen.

            “Tell me the truth,” she demanded in a low tone, squeezing his neck against the door frame. Panicking, his mother had never choked him before.

            “I d-did,” he tried to assure, looking at her face with fear, but she only slapped him again. The hand around his neck was only an empty threat, though it was still a possibility as she pulled him away by her hand and threw him against the parallel wall.

            “Fucking tell the truth!” she shouted in his ear. The sound was loud and shrill, and he could only close his eyelids as tears gather up being them. A punch was delivered to his stomach as she screamed in his ear again. “Tell me the truth.”

            That he couldn’t do. It would mean him having to quit, giving up his freedom. Already knowing the likely scenario, his parents would pressure him into giving them money – his father, specifically – or stealing it while he slept. Not daring to, he didn’t open him eyes as she pulled him back to slam him against the wall again, causing his spine to strike against it excruciatingly.

            She smacked him, again, driving her knee up as she grasped a hold on his shoulders, making him bend slightly as she kneed him in the stomach, just missing his lower region. That had always been her target since he was 16, or Summer’s target, rather, since he was 12. She had picked on him in the beginning, too, trying to save her own skin. Over the years, he learned to bend to avoid it being struck, though his abdomen still took the blow. He would’ve fallen if it hadn’t been for her grasp, but she only pushed him down harder. Landing on his shoulder, the bone drove into its socket agonizingly.

            Letting out a groan, he was leaning off of it, though it wasn’t over. His father kicked him, landing the swift strike to his abdomen, making him lean back into his side as he tried to hide his sore spot, but the older brunet only kicked his arms instead. Not enough to break, but enough to hurt and potentially bruise.

            Sobbing quietly, he leaned onto his stomach before his mother gave the final blow and kicked him on his side, making him positively ache as he shook with the need to cry.

            “Grow up, pussy,” his father said before they were both walking away, leaving him a mess as his new injuries throbbed.

            Laying there, he felt his eyes sting as his throat constricted in on itself. His throat was sore from the need to finally break down, but he wouldn’t allow himself to do so. Not here. Not with his parents so close. They would only make it worse on him next time if they were to see, or hear, his crying. So he forced it down, biting back the urge to wail.

            Finally, he found the strength to get up, and he limped over to his room, stumbling into the space and falling into a heap on his bed. Breathing in deeply, he landed uncomfortably, though, none of his sides were alright to lay on as he had been slammed, thrown, and kicked from all angles.

            Exhausted all over again, he fell asleep, not waking up until the next day. There he lay, feeling his body throb sorely from the torturous inflictions forced upon him yesterday. He spent his birthday in pain, ruing the moment he woke up. It was late that night when he allowed himself to cry until he fell asleep again.

            There was one thing he was glad about: finally, being old enough to move out. As of now, he was officially an adut.


	9. Violence

            The shrill alarm of his phone was once again waking him. Getting out of bed, he turned off the alarm, one that was set for 6:30 am as his school started at 8. Clicking off the device, he yawned as he stretched his arms, becoming immobile for a moment before he relaxed. There was still a slight discomfort in his bones and muscles, not fully over the abuse he received the other day. Shrugging, though mildly upset, he let his arms fall to his sides, walking over to his dresser to get his clothes picked out for the day.

            Rummaging through his drawer, he furrowed his eyebrows as he saw that most of his shirts were just his uniform clothes. They didn’t have a special design on them, just solidly colored. Brushing it off, he knew he was going to have to go to work after school anyway. He picked up his favorite shirt. It was his favorite because it was made of a soft polyester and big on him. Not to mention it was his favorite color: yellow, though he felt on odd stir in his chest as looked at the color blue, more specifically cyan. No. Even brighter than that. And he knew the cause of it.

            Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, deciding to shower again just because he had time to do it, and it helped him with waking up. After grabbing his clothes, he walked towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He pulled off his nightclothes, just simply pair of boxer briefs and an oversized t-shirt. The cool air chilled over his skin, making goosebumps erupt their way across his arms and legs. Having a preference for the cold, he didn’t mind, just left himself relax.

            The water was slightly colder today. It ran through his hair and trickled chilly down his spine, making a smile creep its way on his face. Like usually, he washed his body first, using his vanilla-strawberry scented body wash. It oozed over his tainted skin. Bubbles gathering over his pale complexion that was splotched with yellowing bruises, some deeper than others. As he tried not to think about it too much, he rinsed it away, turning in favor to wash his hair with matching shampoo.

            Stepping out of the tub, he grabbed another towel and started drying himself, shaking his hair with the towel to dry it. Then he was putting on his clothes for the day. Black skinny jeans encased his legs as he was putting his shirt on right when he heard the loud slam of a door in the house.

            Furrowing his brows, he glanced at the bathroom door, opening it to find his mother walking down the his mother walking down the hall towards him with a furious look in her eyes. The boy shrank in on himself as the blonde got closer, his father close behind. It appeared they’d been arguing again, or still were arguing.

            “I told you: I’m not talking about this,” she called behind her at the tall brunet. Morty started backspacing, trying to close the door, though it was too late as his mother stopped short of it, glancing at him. As the other adult was trailing fast behind her, she went on, not bothered by the teen. His father stopped a little way away as he replied to her.

            “I’m not finished,” he shouted back, breathing erratic as he walked just as briskly as the blonde. “Until you stop talking to that guy at your job, then I’ll be finished –” he started, stepping back when the woman rounded back on him.

            “At least I have a job,” she retorted maliciously, glaring up at him with such a vengeful expression. Looking hurt for a moment, his face showed dejection and he stared at the ground before he was meeting her scowl with a grimace of his own, all while trying to hide the pain in his eyes.

            “Yeah? Working on horse? A horse surgeon will never be the same as a  _real_ surgeon,” he muttered as she started walking away. A menacing look was in her features as she reeled back. That statement snapped something in her. Grabbing the first thing she could, having been a picture frame, she threw it at him, though it landed somewhere behind him as he dodged it. Unfortunately for the adolescent, the space behind his father had been his face since he was about a foot shorter than the man. It came flying at him in fast motion as he had his eyes wide open. Trying to duck, it only ended up hitting him on his left cheek, right below his eye, on his cheekbone.

            Hissing in pain, he held his eye as he braced himself against the door frame. Looking up, his parents weren’t even worried about him as they were still having a shouting match with each other about the importance of his mother’s work ethics.

            Pulling his hand away, he saw he was bleeding. He pulled away from the doorway, jerking towards the sink to frantically grab a towel and run cold water over it. Applying pressure, he pressed it to his face as he tried to stop the flow of blood pouring from the wound. It stung as he did so, though he didn’t stop as he looked up to see his reflection in the mirror.

            Already looking paler, he closed the eye that was still exposed. A few minutes passed before he pulled the rag away from his face. It was still bleeding, however not as bad as it had been. Looking over the cut, he sighed defeated. It wasn’t terribly large, but it was still noticeable. Swollen, bruises were already starting to form around it.

            Rinsing out the rag, he scrubbed away the blood to ring it out again. Pressing it to his face again, he waited another few minutes. It had stopped bleeding altogether by then, but as he looked down at his clothes, his favorite shirt had a few bloodstains. Judging by the noise, his parents had migrated to downstairs and the teen deemed it was safe to go back to his room.

            Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes as he shut the door, but he brushed it off, looking up as he willed himself not to cry. Pulling off his shirt was heavily difficult as he was careful not to brush the material against his new injury. Not seeing any other way, he pulled out another shirt. This one was similar to the shirt he did have, though it had an uglier hue, the vibrancy not the same. It was still soft, but it was a faded, watered-down mustard color. Still, it was big, which he was thankful for. Tight shirts always made him feel uncomfortable. Even though he wasn’t insecure, he was terribly self-conscious of himself in a large enough crowd. They accommodated for his anxiety.

            Making sure it looked right, he glanced outside. It seemed cool, his window fogged with the condensation outside. He grabbed his jacket, a simple plain black. Nothing special.

            His backpack was slung over his shoulder as he walked out, struggling to get the other strap on. It was twisted, so he had to do complex work to get it unstuck as his shoulder was still a little bent up from the other day. When he was finally situated, he started walking off to school. Blowing out a puff of air, he shoved his hands into his pockets, watching his breath as it was cold enough to see. It danced in the wind until it was cool enough to mingle with the surrounding air. Smiling softly, his cheek gave into a dull ache as he did so, and he let it fall off his face, looking down as he walked further on.

            Finally, he reached the school yard, having been an eight block walk to get there. It was about a fifteen-minute walk to get there, so he knew he would’ve had plenty of time to get to class. When he pulled out his phone, however, he noticed he had about 10 minutes to get there.

            He started walking faster, wondering how time had gotten away from him. It all dawned on him as he recalled taking a slightly longer shower, and the fiasco with the picture frame and how he had to change. All in all, he could understand why all these preventions would’ve made him late.

            Groaning inaudible, he rolled his eyes as he walked through the front steps of the schools building. English literature was his first class, and he silently loathed how it was all the way across campus. That wasn’t the only reason to dislike it. The class was the worst; he hated it. After always getting picked on by his peers for not having a normal speech pattern. It wasn’t his fault; he knew that as he tried so hard to work on his speech impediment to no avail. Nothing worked, obviously, as he was still a stuttering mess. Always running over his sentences, especially when he found a better way to phrase a statement halfway through the first one.

            Making his way to class, breathing a little harsh, he was relieved to find his teacher not in the room and he had a few minutes to spare. Sighing with relief, he took his seat in the front, putting his stuff beside his chair as he crossed his arms to hide himself from his classmates. Looking up to the front, he waited for class to start as he watched the clock.

            For the remained of time, he tried to calm his breathing, taking in a deep breath and letting it out as quietly as he could. Seconds ticked away, and he silently made tabs until he could be out of there, away from all the people that hate him.

            There was only one place he wanted to be: in the coffee shop. With that, he started thinking about the man. Mind wandering through thoughts of his blue eyes.

            Sighing again, he smiled gently as he stayed on how his clear irises looked at him so softly. Leaning on his palm, avoiding his still fresh wound as much as he could, he felt dazed again, almost entranced, even when he wasn’t there.

            His smile fell again, looking up just as the teacher came in. Right then, he was reminded why he reminded why he hated school as much as he did as he glanced at the clock once more. 8:04.

            It was going to be a long day.


	10. Coverup

            After having all 7 of his classes, he was walking out of school. The bell had rung, signaling they could go home. He had been walking easily, feeling drained from school, though he was glad he could get to work. It was his safe haven.

            He was walking along, almost out of the door before he was being pulled aside and slammed into a wall. When he looked up, he found the rude customer from a few weeks ago. A frightened recognition must’ve shown on his face as the darker boy grinned manically.

            “Hey, weren’t you the one who told me to get out of line?” he inquired, arching an eyebrow as he dared Morty to answer wrong.

            “N-No. W-Well, y-yeah, I guess I – I was – but I d-didn’t mean any harm,” Morty got out, trying to keep his stuttering to a minimum. The taller boy rolled his eyes, looking at the shorter one with hostility.

             “Let’s get something straight: Just because you have a name tag doesn’t mean I have to listen you. Now, you’re gonna get it,” he threatened, glancing a little bellowed Morty’s eyes, grinning wickedly again. He didn’t say anything, only brought his fist up to connect it harshly against the boy’s cheek. Not being able to do anything else, his head went along with the force, feeling weak to put up with the boy’s abuse. He could feel the wound open up and he was aware of the blood starting to trickle down his face.

            He was kicked in his stomach, and he doubled over, struggling to breathe as it was renewing the pain he had felt over the weekend. The other had stepped back, obviously feeling as though he had done enough, but he was pulling Morty by the hair and forcing him to make eye contact.

            “Never tell me what to do. Got it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. Morty nodded quickly, wanting to boy to stop a she knew his shirt was going to be dirty again, just like his one that morning.

            Then he was letting him go, having the boy fall to the floor as he tried to catch his breath. That wasn’t an option, though, as the boy kicked him in the side, having the paler roll to his other side, huddling himself against the wall.

            There was a dark chuckled from the bully. “Pathetic,” he muttered before he was gone, leaving Morty there helpless.

            Waiting a few minutes, he picked himself up, feeling drained all over again, and he started walking towards the bathroom. He went into a stall, and he was pulling toilet paper out of the holder and tearing it off with a jagged edge. He didn’t care as he folded it, and ran it under the automatic faucet.

            When it was wet enough, he pressed it between his hands, draining the leftover water and he wrapped that up into a few more layers of dry paper. It was slowly wet, though it was still durable enough to soak up any blood that was on the boy’s face.

            He walked to the scratched-up mirror, wiping himself up, glancing at his shirt to see that he didn’t have a spot of blood on it. Relieve, he let out a sigh. There would’ve been a chance he might have gotten to work late if he were to have went home to get another work shirt.

            Tossing the bloody toilet paper away, he went to the stall and got enough to wrap it into a neat wad a wet it slightly. He pressed it to his face, pulling out his phone to see that he was running late, so he started making his way towards the front again. He walked out the door and towards the safety of his work establishment. He was holding the makeshift towel to his face, looking as he rushed toward the café.

            It wasn’t a far walk, and he got there just in time. He was that his coworkers were already switching places with one another, and he smiled sheepishly at the girl he was taking place of. She only shook her head, glancing at his hand that was still holding the toilet paper to his face and she looked curious. She only shrugged her should and untied her apron, folding it neatly and putting it away under the counter.

            Morty got out his, looking at the window to see no one was coming in – as far as he could see, anyway – and he walked to the bathroom, letting the toilet paper fall into the trach can and looked at his reflection in the mirror. There were a few specks of dread blood below where the wet paper had been. Other than that, he was alright.

            He washed it off quickly, using a paper towel to dry up the leftover water on his face. It was now fresh again and started to swell up after it had gone down across the expense of the day. He looked at the bruising as that had gotten worse over the day. It now hurt vaguely.

            Walked out of the bathroom, tying his apron around his waist after he had tied it around his neck, he looked up to see his coworker was in the kitchen. Shrugging, he went to the register and awaited someone to come in and order something. He didn’t have to wait long until his first customer came in. It was a woman whose child seemed to have wanted a baked treat as she was walking excitedly, gazing with excited wonder only children can have.

            “H-Hello. How m-may I help y-you?” he asked, smiling politely as they came towards the counter. She smiled kindly at him, looking down at her daughter whom was looking at their selection of brownies, cooking and various other items. She looked awestruck, and the teen had to stifle a smile as he gazed upon her. She had dirty blonde hair, and she looked like she was about 8 years old. Her mother looked young, only seemingly around her early 30’s, possible late 20’s with dark locks and thick himself.

            “Um, give me a coffee with cream and sugar, and for this one,” she started, smiling fondly at her daughter as she pulled her closer, directing her sentence towards her as she continued. “What would you like, sweetheart?” she asked fondly. The little girl glanced at the barista, smiling shyly before motioning her mother to lean down, which she did so and the little girl whisper into her ear.

            “She wants a chocolate chip cookie,” she informed, smiling again. ‘She’s shy,’ she mouthed to the boy, but Morty only shook his head and smiled calmly.

            “No p-problem,” he said aloud, glancing at the small child before he heard the door in the back flip open, hos co-worker bringing out a fresh batch of cookies. “What s-size w-would you like?” he asked, ringing up the cookie cost and looking at the woman for confirmation.

            “Medium,” she replied, opening her purse to grab her wallet. The cashier ran it up, bringing up the total and reciting it to the woman.

            “5. 95 is your total,” he told her, smiling brightly before the woman handed him a 5-dollar bill and a on

            “Keep the nickel,” she said, waving it off. Morty placed it upon the register, feeling as though he had been getting a lot of tips lately. Even if most were from the man with striking blue eyes.

            Morty set off making the cup of coffee, letting it fill as he grabbed the sugar and creamer. Stopping it at the fill line, he poured them in, topping it with a lid and grabbing a straw. He looked at the tray of cookie, neatly aligned and grabbed a wax paper and grabbed one he deemed the biggest, wrapping it up safely.

            “Y-Your coffee,” he started, handing the cup to the woman and looked at the girl. Smiling as he leaned over, he handed her the sweet. “A-And here’s you c-cookie, sweetie,” he said, listening to her giggle softly. It was a pleasant sound, and he grinned at her.

            “Th-Th-Th-Thank y-you,” she hesitantly said, making his smile fall slightly in reply, and his brows rise. When he saw her bashful look, he realized she was only insecure about it, just like he had been, but not anymore.

            “M-My pleasure,” he answered, smiling as she took her treat.

            The bell rang overhead, though he wasn’t paying any mind as he leaned back to his place on the counter and smiled back at the woman.

            “Thank you . . .” she trailed off, looking at his nametag with a glance. “Morty,” the woman stated, and he nodded to confirm the pronunciation. “I also hope you feel better, that looks like a nasty wound,” she said, and he only shook his head, waving her off.

            “D-Don’t worry w-worry about it.” His smile fell slightly as he thought back to the incident that gave him the place. He looked down as they walked off, and he heard them thanking the person that teen assumed held the door open for them.

            He was busy marking out the orders he had taken the other day, considering he had forgotten when he last did them. Crossing them off, he glanced up from under his lashes to see the man whom consumed his every last thought approaching the counter. Morty froze, quickly thinking about the wound on his face and glancing over all the items in the display cabinet.

            “H-Hello. H-How m-may I help y-you?” he asked, trying to keep his injury covered as it was ugly to look at and he didn’t want the man seeing it. He glanced over to see the man looking at him with a confused expression, though he opened his mouth to reply.

            “Same as usual,” he said, and the worker paused, recalling his usual drink. After only serving the man twice, once it hadn’t been him actually serving him just remaking his drink, he knew it by memory, but his mind was so jumbled up he couldn’t possible remember the specifics.

            “P-Plain coffee?” he inquired, turning more towards the register than him. “W-What s-size again?” he asked, glancing over at the man and seeing him with the same curious face.

            “Medium,” he stated. The brunet typed it up, his mind racing with a million different thoughts as his total came up. Especially the last interaction they had. It left him with so many questions, and so many crazy conclusions as to why he was gone for so long. Now he was in front of him, he was more than upset. 

            “Three t-twenty-f-five is your t-total,” he stated, not taking his eyes off the register. He used his peripheral vision to see the money the man was offering, and he took it in his hand, though the man didn’t let it go. Instead, they both held onto it, and the teen felt his face heat up as he knew the man was expectant expression.

            “Will you look at me?” he requested, his tone pleading, and his grip slacking.

            The boy paused, turning his face to where his wound was still covered and he let his eyes wander over the man. His hair was a bit messier than usual, but it looked good.  His features were soft with concern, but his intense blue eyes were something Morty tried to avoid, knowing he was going to look at him fully if he were to see them.

            When he stayed there, still holding onto the money, the brunet thought he was going to press him on. He let go, however, and the barista made quick change, holding it out to the man whom might’ve seemed a bit off guard.

             “Keep the change,” he stated, and Morty sighed, knowing it was coming. Guilt washed over him because he really did feel as though he didn’t deserve it. Instead of pushing the other on further, he let it rest on the cash register, and he turned away to make his cup of coffee.

            Quickly done with making it, he turned around to give it to the man. He felt him grasp the cup, holding his hand down onto it. Before Morty could try and pull his hand away the man was reaching over with his other hand and tilting the teen’s face so he was looked at him.

            The boy’s faced burned as he felt his cheeks warm with a blush of embarrassment. He didn’t dare jerk away from his grasp as the cup was still mostly in his hand. There were limited options as to know where it would end up if he tried to yank himself away. One of which – and the most likely probability – it would end up all over himself.

            They stared each other in the eye, the teen feeling his own growing heavy as the man’s crystal blue ones dropped his gaze to what the adolescent was trying to get him to avoid. He felt the man let go of his face, though he didn’t move to look away as the patron raised his hand up to brush on the sensitive skin under Mort’s wound. Wincing, he hissed slightly at the pinpricks of pain that erupted with the touch.

            The man returned his eyes back to the teen’s own. The brunet could see his gaze waver, and the boy could feel himself getting on in them. Feeling his heart slow to an almost full stop. He was being dragged in. Pulled by endless oceans of the man’s eyes. Everything began to fall away.

            Morty ripped himself away, breaking eye contact, the left side of his face turned away from the man as he started pulling his hand away. The patron moved his hand away to grasp ahold of the bottom of the cup, and he finally pulled his hand free. There was a heavy silence in the store, and the adolescent felt himself suffocating with it. The tension was so thick the boy thought it would never be resolved until the taller opened his mouth to interrogate him.

            “What happened?” he asked, his voice with a twinge of a demand, but mostly worry. Still, the smaller put up defensive walls as he paused, taking a small breath before he was replying.

            “D-Depends on w-what you mean b-b – on w-what you’re asking,” he responded, blinking away his tears. Still refusing to look at the customer, he could feel his resolve slipping as he heard the patron sigh.

            “I mean, who gave you cut,” he elaborated, sounding patient enough, but there was a slight off tone that made the shorter believe it was rapidly dwindling. The brunet glanced at him with just a flicked of his eyes, and he bit his lip.

            “D-Depends on what y-you’re ask-asking,” the boy reiterated, his voice wavering as he recalled both events on how exactly it got to the way it was. He couldn’t possibly tell this almost complete stranger what he was feeling, even if he did feel inclined to him. Abuse with his family and his peers was a topic he didn’t like going into. Not to mention the teen was still lost on what exactly this was.

             There was another silence, and Morty couldn’t stand it any longer as he closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself as a form of protection. As a way of comfort. “H-Have a n-nice day,” he bid him, still not looking as the man continued to stand there.

             “You, too, Morty,” he muttered after another pause. The tone in his voice almost broke him. The way he sounded so sincere and concerned. So defeated. He felt tears in his eyes again, and he listened to the man walk away from the counter.

             “T-Too late,” he whispered under his breath, turning away from the door, letting a stray tear fall upon his right cheek. Hurriedly, he wiped it away as he heard the bell finally ding as it closed. He felt himself being drained again. This time, it was emotionally. This was  _not_ the boy’s day.


	11. Finally

            It had been three days since Morty had seen the man, and he felt as though he wasn’t going to ever see him again.

            He glanced at the clock and saw it was already almost time for him to get off his shift. Sighed, he had 12 minutes left.

            His injury was quickly healing. Having been only a smallish tear in his skin, and mild bruising, he supposed it would be only a few more days before it was completely gone. The bruising had gone. By now it was only a scab on his face. It wasn’t going to leave a scar, he knew that, but at the time it was fresh, it had been his main concern.

            Washed with shame, he thought about how he had treated the other as he tried to hide away from him. He looked down at the counter, so lost in thought he actually didn’t hear the bell ring above the door. Only when a person was in front of the counter did he notice someone come in. Shock hit him hard when he looked up and saw the man had come back.

            “H-Hi,” he started breathlessly. He blinked once, seeing the customer’s confusion and he cleared his throat with a blush high on his cheeks. “S-Sorry – um – H-How may I – I help y-you?” the boy asked, raising his pen as he glanced down at his notepad. He kept his eyes up, not wanting to avoid the man like he had done the other day.

            Glancing at his outfit, he was wearing a blue cardigan and a white trench coat. Kakis wrapped around his long legs, not skin tight, not baggy either. Fitting perfectly. It never dawned upon him until now the patron was actually quite wealthy. He wore nice outfits, and the brunet had been wondering up until this point how he had been able to afford giving the younger all these generous tips until today.

            Blinking, he looked back up at the man to see him smiling amusedly. He didn’t say anything about it, only winking at him, making the boy’s stomach churn with the attention, and his face burn for the same reason.

            “I see you’re healing up nicely,” he commented instead of ordering what he wanted. The teen raised his left hand to his wound absentmindedly, running the tip of his fingers over the mark, letting it linger a bit longer before he was dropping his hand to its writing position.

            “Y-Yeah . . .” he began, trailing off as he thought back to how he had treated him. “L-Look, I – I’m sorry about the other – about th-the w-way I acted. I guess I – I was j-just having a b-bad day,” Morty explained, looking down in shame as he ran his hand over his arm.

            “Don’t worry about it,” he responded, a twinge to his voice, vague and muttered. The teen looked up to find him looking out the window, though not really looking outside as he simply had a far away look on his face. “We all have those days,” he said as an afterthought, looking another moment before he was turning towards the boy with a small smile. “Just a plain coffee. Medium,” he ordered gently, his voice kind. The brunet smiled, nodding.

            He typed it up, though he already knew the price as it was the only drink he ordered.

            “Th-Three twenty-five is y-your total,” the boy relied, a second before the exact same price was on screen before the man, though he didn’t need to look at it to confirm the price. The barista doubted he would have anyways, considering he gives the change to the boy anyways.

            The customer handed over another 20, and Morty made quick change, closing the register before he heard the usual statement the man gave: “Keep the change.”

            The smaller paused, feeling another wave of guilt wash over him, and he suddenly felt worse about having taking it. Looking up at the man whom was now checking his phone for the time, he had turned it on to the lock screen and he was clicking it off in a moment.

            “I – I’m sorry, but I c-can’t do that – n-not t-today,” he said in an almost defeated tone, and the patron looked up to see the boy, an almost surprised expression as he saw the pained look on the teen’s face. He furrowed his eyebrows together, nodding in understanding, although the teen doubted he knew how he felt when the brunet didn’t even understand at the moment.

            With a nod, they broke the cycle as Morty handed the other back his change. Though, he didn’t let his hand go to put it up as the teen put it in his hand.

            “What’s wrong, Morty?” he asked in a hushed tone, his eyes filled with unreserved concern. The boy gazed for a moment, feeling his heart thud before he was looking off to the side, gripping his arm in his hand again. It was possibly the first time since he’s met him that he looked so unbashful at him. So overtly.

            “I j-just d-don’t like taking money w-when I haven’t earned it,” the boy replied, feeling a wave of embarrassment as he felt like he was disappointing him, but he felt too much remorse to even compete with it.

            “But you’ve been –” he started, his mouth already started to twist into a smile, but it only continued to frustrate the adolescent.

            “B-Being a g-good worker does-doesn’t count. I-It’s-s m-my – it’s my job,” he got out, looking up as he said the words with a bit more force than he meant to. Watching the man’s smile drop to a solemn expression cause a strangled feeling to erupt in his chest because he was so open before. At first, he didn’t understand, taking a moment to run over his last statement, his eyes widening as he went to explain himself.

            “Th-That’s not what I m-meant,” he started, his mind racing with all he wanted to say. It became a blur as he tried to elaborate. “I – I j-just meant th-that I – that I h-have to – I m-meant I k-kind o-o-of n-n-need t-to – no. It’s n-not – I m-mean – w-what I’m t-trying to – I – I – I j-j-just – I – I – I . . .” the smaller stuttered out, his words mixing together until he felt as though his mind was just a racetrack. Sentences became drivers. This time they came together and crashed on course. Face burning as he malfunctioned, he struggled to breath, his chest felt tighter as he continued to sputter out nonsense. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he tried to breath, but he couldn’t as his hands started shaking as he gestured wildly, trying to get his point across while also trying to grasp a feel of stability.

            The man watched with concern and startled fear as Morty crashed. It was overlooked as the boy couldn’t focus as he tried to explain. Nothing was coming out except strangled breaths as he felt himself beginning to cry. Before he could register with going on, with all the other overwhelming anxiety, his face was being taken into the man’s large hands as he was cupping his cheeks. Calming, cool blue eyes were staring into his own, then, filling with fear for the boy.

            “Listen to me, Morty,” he started, making the boy stop trying to speak, as his voice was guiding. Only listening to the rush of his own blood as it was loudly roaring in his ears and the man’s soothing, deep voice. “Just breathe, alright, baby?” he asked, and the teen felt his heart lurch at the pet name, his face feeling heated all over again, though he was sure it couldn’t possible have shown as he was already crimson. As he was hyperventilating, he could only nod, taking a deep breath and exhaling as slow as he could, feeling the tight ball in his chest squeeze and relax as he did so. Focusing, he took smaller breaths, feeling his chest finally loosen as he placed his hands on the counter, awkwardly holding them there as the man was already leaning over the counter to get the boy to meet his steady gaze, coaching him how he should breath.

            Finally, he was breathing properly, although he was still blushing as the man hasn’t let go of his face as he looked him in the eyes. There was nowhere else to look, so he gazed deeply into the clear blue eyes, irises so bright and intense it made him want to shudder. He found himself being pulled into the pools of blue, and he felt himself almost drowning in them.

            “Hi,” the boy said under his breath, shakily, though he didn’t stutter, and he felt proud of himself for it. He glanced down shyly. Looking back up from under his lashes, he saw something flash through the man’s eyes. Something akin to lust, and it actually did make him shudder. He felt the man’s thumb rake across his cheek, the tip lightly tracing the mark that was almost healed. Smiling bashfully, he let out a small laugh, looking down at his hands that were fidgeting in themselves as he found himself nervous.

            “Y-You n-know, after all th-this t-t-time, I s-s-still don’t n-know your name,” Morty explained, looking back up as he continued to blush. The taller only smiled, shaking his head.

            “My name is Rick. Rick Sanchez,” he informed, and the barista found himself blushing again. Now he was realizing the older one didn’t know his full name.

            “M-My last name is S-Smith,” he stated, smiling as the man continued to leisurely stroke his cheek as he looked into the boy’s eyes. He seemed dazed and Morty allowed himself to close his own eyes to back in the comfort the movement provided, nuzzling his cheek further into his large, hallow palm.

            “How old are you?” Rick asked, halting his ministrations as Morty looked at him with a half-lidded gaze.

            “Eighteen,” the smaller replied, his voice soft and gentle. The patron took in a sharp breath. Morty found himself worried. Before he could panic, however, the man was replying.

            “Only a seventeen-year difference,” he said, muttering softly. Morty took a long moment to do the basic math. Then he was looking back at him with a small smile, although his was gazing with a concern expression.

            “You l-look great for b-being th-th-thirty – thirty-five,” the teen commented, blushing lightly as the blue-eyed man only laughed. Being persuaded with the sound, he was using his arms to press himself up, along with his toes. In one bold move, he was kissing the man, listening to his laugh die away as his lips remolded to fit his own, slotting firmly to press against them, making the brunet sigh with content.

            After a moment, he pulled away, smiling bashfully as the man looked at him with a fond smile.

            “I sh-should make your coffee n-now,” he said, making Rick laugh again as he pulled away. He was displeased by the lack of warmth, but he shook his head as he turned around and started making his coffee in a daze.

            When he turned around to give it to him, he saw the taller was once again watching him. Morty was blushing again because this time was different, but still familiar, to the first time the man had stepped into the coffee shop.

            This time was much different than the first, except the statement he thought they already discussed, though he sighed with defeat as the man pressed it back in his hand.

            “Keep the change.”


	12. Coming Back

            He was on his feet for a while, glancing at the clock as he felt as though he couldn’t handle it anymore. It was only 8:50, having another hour until his shift was over.

            Jeremy was in the bathroom, possibly trying to get out of doing work for a while and playing on his phone. Morty rolled his eyes at the thought, looking down at his notepad as he made a mindless doodle. Something meaningless. Just a stick figure walking pleasantly as his day filled in around him. He put his pen down as he heard the bell rind, making him turn his head up, beaming as he saw it was Rick.

            “H-Hello. How m-may I help y-you?” the teen asked, picking up his notepad as he looked up at the taller, blushing lightly as he smiled easily.

            “I was thinking of trying something new. Any suggestions?” he asked, eyes flickering to the menu above the boy’s head before meeting his gentle gaze. Morty simply sighed, clicking his pen and mentally preparing himself for any castigation.

           “I d-don’t usually drink c-coffee,” he started, pausing as he looked closely for any real shock. “I d-don’t really like it,” he muttered as an afterthought, being honest. Flushing, he smiled shyly as he looked down at his notepad again. “I c-can make you a – an iced l-late. Its k-kind of pop-popular,” the barista suggested, looking up at the older with his head ducked bashfully.

            “Yeah, sure,” he agreed, looking down at the cashier with a soft smile. The smaller bit his lip, writing down the order as he heard the bell above the chime, and he glanced over to the bathroom door. Noticing his coworker still hadn’t emerged, he sighed, rolling his eyes before glancing at the couple who walked in. It was the same couple from last month, along with the boy whom had tracked him down at school before he left. Now, he fully wished Jeremey came out as anxiety overcame him, filling him with dread.

            “I’m g-going t-to need to n-know w-what size c-c-cup y-you want,” he stated, looked back at Rick whom seemed to be observing him with a concentrated look on his face.

            “Medium,” he said, pulling out his wallet as the brunet went about writing it down and pressing a few buttons in the register.

            “Is th-that – is that i-it?” he asked, smiling softly, knowing the couple would be taking forever anyways. When he glanced back, the taller was biting his lip, gazing over the teen’s face before flickering his eyes downwards. It was fast, and he was looking back up, letting his mouth fall into a natural smirk.

            “For today,” he replied, and the barista tried not to think about his burning face as he felt scarlet, glancing at the overall sum before he recited it.

            “Th-Th-That’ll – That’ll be five f-fifteen,” he relayed, the taller already pulling out a twenty just like yesterday.

            “Keep the chance,” he stated, and Morty froze again, though he knew it was bound to come. In place of arguing, he just let out a small puff of air, though he smiled, shaking his head as he glanced at the man. After making quick change, he laid it on the space before the register, knowing the man wouldn’t take it as he insisted he would, and he turned around to go about making his cup of coffee. Stopping short, he realized he would have to make a new batch of coffee, and he huffed tiredly as he was feeling fed up with Jeremy.

            He looked over his shoulder as he went about making the pot, the couple standing aside as they took their time deciding what they wanted, and the man gravitating towards the other register, though he kept his eyes on the smaller behind the counter.

            Morty blushed again, looking away to cover it as he grabbed a clear cup, writing Rick’s name on it as neatly as he could, though taking his time because they couldn’t get anywhere without the coffee in the first place. While he was at it, he jotted down the digits to his phone number, having already bought his own phone and plan after he turned 18. He had forgotten to yesterday, and he remembered on his way home and he ended up falling asleep trying to remember the numbers so he could tell him the next day. Finally, he looked over to see the pot was nearly full.

            He walked over and switched it off, it being hot enough as it was freshly brewed. The teen poured about a fourth of the cup with vanilla creamer, knowing the man didn’t like anything too sweet as he had a plain cup of coffee every day since he’s known him. He plonked in a few ice cubes, and filled the rest of it with coffee, but as quick as he could. After doing this job for a while, he knew how to be fast. He topped it off with a lid and grabbed a straw, swirling the cup in his hand to make sure the cream spread before he turned around.

            The cashier smiled to Rick, who was walking to get his cup of coffee. “H-Have a nice d-day,” he said, smiling at the taller.

            “You, too, Morty,” he bid, making it seem almost like déjà vu as Morty almost told him he forgot his change. He didn’t, though, and he let the man be, whom seemed to be taking his time walking out the door. He walked up to the cash register, looking at the couple whom haven’t seemed to have looked at the menu as they’ve been talking the entire time they’ve been there, though it was in quiet whispers, all giggly and smiley. The barista cleared his throat, getting their attention.

           “S-Sorry to k-keep you guys wait-waiting. W-What would you like?” he asked, putting on a friendly enough smile, though it still seemed too hostile for the darker boy’s liking as he glared at the cashier, sneering as he walked forward.

           “Hey, look,” he started, his tone already snappish, and getting the attention of everyone else in the room, including the few patrons that have been secluded in the farthest booth. “I warned you already not to rush me,” he reminded, his tone dark, making the teen feel pale in comparison. The boy’s eyes widened, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment as he felt Rick’s eyes on him, and he forced himself to keep up his smile, though he felt his palms begin to clamp up.

           “S-Sorry, it w-was j-just that you seemed t-to be – to be w-waiting an aw-awful – a w-while,” the smaller stuttered, flushing further as his speech was worse, tripping over words, and trying to offer a smile that was more nervous than he liked as a way to keep the peace. As always, with any sort of conflict, he wasn’t good about handling it, and it appeared the customer in front of him was a tyrant as he narrowed his eyes. It made him feel jittery, and his chest started tightening like it had yesterday.

            “What with this ‘s-s-s-s’ stuttering shit? What are you: retarded?” he mocked, and the brunet felt his soul leave his body. He was filled from head to toe with shame now, snapping his eyes down to look at his notepad as his heart was lodged in his throat. He had always been insecure with his slight problem, but no one, in all his life, had called him out so harshly about it. Even if his family were disappointed with him, they would never go to this extreme so quickly. After a while, maybe, but never in the snap of one’s finger. With his coworkers, Bonnie had always been there to keep his head up and tell them to kindly fuck off. 

            Given the circumstances, he still never held the confidence to stand up for himself, no matter how much he tried. Especially not someone like the darker one who could easily do him harm. It had been socially controlled into his nature to remain passive – even if it might not have been his own doing. Now, he just stood there, eyes downcast as he listened to all the words he tried not to believe were true. Only tried to focus on how he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, counting his breathing that raged on inside his chest, keeping in time with his erratic heartbeat.

            “Whoa, not cool, Brad. He’s just doing his job,” he heard the girl beside him say. He found out her name was Jessica the other day as she had come in with a couple friends. He looked up to find her glaring at her boyfriend who seemed to be indifferent to her scold. He simply rolled his eyes, looking at Morty again.

            “Well he’s not good at it. It’s a wonder he still even has a job,” he commented, keeping a steady gaze with the cashier as he rambled on. “Bet he lets his boss fuck him to keep it,” he lewdly stated, and Morty snapped, his face turning hard as he tilted his head up at the last statement.

            “Get out,” he heard himself say, his tone unlike anything he’s heard before. It was hard, and demanding, so unlike himself. So sharp and forceful. He didn’t like it. Then again, he didn’t like the words spewing from the other’s mouth more. He just wasn’t sure how to react, and even then, he felt tear forming in his eyes as he was talked to in such an explicit manner, but he carried on, watching the taller boy’s eyes widened, and then narrow.

            “Excuse me?” he asked, as though Morty had the audacity to talk to him that way. Really, he didn’t, and he could feel the fight draining in him, but he tried to keep up the act, clenching his jaw and pressing his teeth together so his stutter wouldn’t come through as much.

            “I s-said, ‘get out’,” he responded, though he felt his gaze wavering as he didn’t like standing up for himself. He just wanted to throw away everything and run away, and he took one final glance before he let his gaze finally drop to his hands. He couldn’t handle this. He let his hair fall in front of his eyes to cover up his gathering tears, unaware of the man becoming furious with each moment he spent in the café.

            “Oh, yeah? And who’s gonna make me?” he started, his voice taunting as he knew the shorter could never do anything.

            Before Morty could even begin to answer that question, he found he didn’t have to. Suddenly, there was a shout, and the adolescent snapped his head up to see Rick had yanked his right arm behind the darker boy, shaping it in a way that looked rather uncomfortable behind him. His face read pain, and he hissed through his teeth. “Hey – get off of me,” he tried for, but the man was so obviously stronger than him, not to mention taller, so he was easily leaning over his right shoulder, muttering a few words.

            “What’s the matter?” he mimicked, arching a brow, and Brad suddenly looked scared.

            “Jessica!” he called for, though the red-headed girl grimaced.

            “You got yourself into this,” she reminded, putting her hands on her hips as she furrowed her brows. The dark boy struggled in the taller’s hold, trying to get himself free, but the older wouldn’t even budge.

            “I could let you go,” Rick started, his eyes gazing to the smaller boy. “After you apologize,” he then stated, shoving him forward and keeping his hold as Brad’s hips knocked against the counter.

            The barista was face with gazing into the eyes of his tormenter, and he found himself shifting uncomfortable as the teen in Rick’s grip only glared at him. How the man was acting scared him, though he was thankful he didn’t have to deal with it alone. Trepidation fled through him as he was becoming afraid of the older, though he couldn’t deny the sense of flattering.

             “I’m not apologizing to that – fuck!” he cut himself off as Rick forced his arm higher against his shoulder blades, making him arch against the stronger’s grip. “Okay – okay, look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” he wailed, closing his eyes to the pain.

            The taller released him though he didn’t let his eyes off him as he glared at the back of the boy’s head. The bully only rubbed his shoulder, walking towards the door and stopping to try and grip the girl’s hand.

            “Come on, Jessica,” he ordered, but she snatched her hand away with a scoff.

            “No way, Brad. We’re through,” she announced, crossing her arms as she turned around and walked out, leaving the room quiet, saved for the chiming bell above the door. Morty just sat there in awe as he turned around to glare at the boy, though he took one glance at Rick and shook his head before looking away.

           “Whatever,” he murmured, walking out of the shop and rushed to catch up with the girl.

           The brunet turned to look at the man who observed him with caution. Heat filled his cheeks with color as he let his gaze trail over the taller’s soft expression. “Thank you,” he said shakily, gripping his right arm as he glanced at the clock. “I d-don’t want you t-to be late, b-b-but you can c-call me later. I’ll b-be fine,” he assured, stating it multiple times before the man actually left. When he finally did, the teen waved him out, watching him walk away. Sighing, he leaned his head on his palm, resting his elbow on the counter. He had it bad.


	13. Bully

            In school the next day, he was counting down the hours until he could see Rick again. He was working later today, and he was becoming happier with the though as time passed.

            Taking out his phone, he was clicking it on to see what time it was as he walked out of the doors of the school. After spending some time collecting his things, packing up later, he knew he was running late. It was 3:12 now, confirming his suspicions. He had about seven minutes to get to work now. Pitching his bag higher on his shoulder it was rested on, he tucked his phone away in his back pocket. However, he stopped short as he was forcefully being pulled back.

            The teen found himself being slammed into the lockers from the side, his body making an awkward clanking sound as it made contact with the metal boxes. The loud noise near his ear made him wince more than the actual action in which caused the sound. After trying to pull away, he was only to be shoved more firmly as the hand man, and kept, contact with his shoulder. In one slick move, the front of his shirt was being grabbed roughly, and he was suddenly coming face-to-face with his pursuer, Brad.

            "Uh, h-hey, Brad,” Morty started, dropping his bag as he was already trying to walk down the bully, though he knew his attempt would be rendered futile.

            "Shut up, pip-squeak,” the darker boy countered, glaring harshly at the smaller boy. The brunet could only smile back sheepishly, still having the courage to try and reason with the taller whom only seemed to resolve everything by using his fists.

            "H-Hey, may-maybe we can just t-talk about th-this, and w-work it out,” he tried to level, but was rewarded with getting pulled from the lockers and getting violently pushed back. As a result, he ended up slamming his head back with a hollow thud that made him wince again.

            "Shut the fuck up,” he demanded, almost borderline shouting as the teen recovered. “You’re the reason Jessica broke up with me,” he accused, pushing the paler harder into the lockers.

            "Maybe she b-broke up with you b-be-because you’re an asshole, Brad!” Morty snapped back before he could stop himself, the reply on the tip of his tongue and out of his mouth before his brain could process it. Immediate regret soon followed as he watched the bully’s eyes take on a lethal mask. His face hardened further as he glared ever-so-slightly.

            "The fuck did you just call me?” he asked, rhetorically, though, as he didn’t even give the boy time to reply as he raised his fist. The brunet braced himself for the blow, but nothing could prepare him as the taller boy punched him on his left cheekbone. The force was strong enough for him to stumble, although he was already being held steady against the lockers. So he had nowhere else to go except back and forth as he took it.

            Blows were given repeatedly for what seemed like forever, the boy getting punched and kicked in various places that the pain just blurred together in the end. It blended until his body ached all over, simply a particular place receiving a sharper stab with each new strike. Somehow, he ended up laying on the floor, groaning in pain as he laid himself on his back as every muscle in his body ached with agony.

            Looking up, he found Brad standing over him with a glare. He grabbed Morty by his curly hair and slowly made him move into a kneeling position, though he still kept him up by his locked hold.

            "Don’t ever fuck with me again,” the taller growled out, roughly tossing him to the ground. He fell on his side, wincing as his body hit painfully against the tile. He more so heard and felt the other walk away than seen him. Sighing, he was filled with relief as he didn’t give the shorter a warning blow like last time.

            For a moment or two, he stayed on the cool ground. Then he stood up, shakily standing on numb legs. He held himself against the lockers until his arm gave out and he thudded against them, though it was less damaging than the other times. Slowly, he made himself walk along the wall of metal boxes until he was walking on his own, picking up his stuff along the way.

            Morty was then limping out of the school building, observing the mostly vacant parking lot as he made his way across the black top. Realization dawned on him about how he couldn’t go home looking like he got the crap beat out of him. He’ll only get an even worse beating as he knew his parents wouldn’t want their son being a wuss.

            Biting his lip, in a quick second decision, he pulled out his phone with the intentions of calling into work and then to Rick. As he took it out, however, he saw that the screen was shattered. Clicking it on to see if it still worked, he only saw it was worse as the LCD screen was mostly black and white, saved for a few red and green lines on the far right.

            Defeated as he stood there, he let his bag drop to the ground as he fell to his knees. He was unaware of the car pulling around the corner until it was right in front of him. Starting to look, only to stop dead in his movements as he heard a familiar voice speak up.

            "Morty?” Rick’s low tone came out, confused and surprised. The teen glanced at his reflection through the black screen of the shattered phone, only seeing glimpses of himself. As far as he could tell, he looked terrible. He knew the man wouldn’t let this go. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, his voice light as if he were happy. Sort of contrasting to the adolescent’s own mood. Morty only counted down the second until he noticed.

            It was only a matter of time, so he took a deep breath, looking up in the man’s direction. Rick stopped short of what he was going to say, only looked at the brunet with wide eyes. He mumbled a quick, ‘Shit,’ before he was hurrying out of the car to help the boy into the passenger’s side, having no difficulty, even as he picked the boy up, deadweight and all.

            As he sat there, his phone still in his hand, he watched Rick get in on the driver’s side. Putting the boy’s bag into the back, he was pulling into the parking lot and exiting as he reversed and started backing up the way he came. Probably breaking he few traffic laws, and making a slight illegal U-turn, he was going back onto the road he had come, driving smoothly as though he did this often.

            The smaller looked at the expanses of houses and how they grew larger and space became longer, making them sparse. Gates started varying in size, color and material until it was all ten-foot tall stone. A house in the distance caught his eyes. It had a thick fence surrounding it, the back blockaded with a forest of trees. It was massive, about 3 stories, and an easy two blocks wide, at least. He expected them to keep driving, but the man was pulling into the pavement, and Morty felt his eyes go wide.

            He averted his eyes as Rick punched in the code to the gate, and he felt his lids drifting shut, only for them to snap back open when Rick finally started asking questions.

            "Who did this to you?” he asked, tone miffed. There was something in it that sounded expectant, as though he were gently demanded the boy to tell him. Sighing in defeat, he knew the inevitable were upon him.

            "B **-** Brad. The g-guy f-from the c-coffee shop y-yesterday,” the shorter responded, his voice cracking as he had difficulty to speak.

            "Why didn’t you call me? How long were you out there?” he asked, his voice going on exasperation. The teen simply gestured his hand that held his phone, beckoning the taller to take it. Rick glanced for a moment before he was snatching it up, observing the screen. Trying to turn it on, he got the same colorless screen the boy had before.

            "Fuck,” he harshly whispered again. The teen sighed again, feeling his chest convulse painfully, but he wasn’t worried about it as he nodded, agreeing silently to his last statement.

            They pulled into a driveway filled with many other cars, all in various sizes, models, and types. Rick turned to the boy, giving him a stern look before he was getting out and walking over the brunet’s side. Picking him up, his right arm was sunder the boy’s legs, and his left arm was splayed across his back. Resting his aching head on his shoulder, the smaller was almost drifting again as he was slowly rocked back and forth by Rick’s gentle steps.

            Light assaulted his eyes, making him press his face closer to the man’s neck, catching a whiff of his scent, which was purely rich, not musky. There was a lingering hint of shampoo, and an intoxicating cologne. Sighing, he felt content as he shuffled closer.

            They came to the wide door, Rick unlocking it and pushing it open with his leg as he held it open. In all, it was a pretty awkward action, though not too uncomfortable as Rick held his own, and then some, and walked through the doors to set Morty on a plush couch.

            He sank into the cushions, sighing again as he let Rick’s fragrance wash over him. The doors shut with a low thud, and he watched the taller come into view, he was gone just as fast as he rushed somewhere else in the huge house. Quick as he left, he was back with a first aid kit in hand, his coat off, giving Morty a view of his form-fitting shirt. He wasn’t largely built, something the teen found greatly appreciative of, though he didn’t have a fair amount of muscle that complimented his lanky form.

            He was pulling Morty’s shirt over his head, and the boy let him, watching his facial expression as his eyes widened as he laid his eyes upon the brunet’s form. The smaller looked down, seeing the reasoning behind it as he saw the discoloration of his stomach, already seeing large bruising formed over his ribcage, his stomach, and a large part of his left side, down to his hip. Some were faintly yellow from older bruises, though the younger prayed he didn’t bring them up, or look too closely. There was something disappointing as he realized the first time Rick would see him without a shirt was when he was in pain.

            He looked back up at the man whom looked lethal as he glared at the ugly wounds that tainted the boy’s body. As he looked up at Morty, his jaw hard as he made a promising statement: “I’m going to fucking kill him.”


	14. Possessivness

            Morty was sitting in his own room now, laying down and looking at the ceiling. As he breathed in deeply, his ribs ached dully, though it was already mellowing out. Resting on his back, he had been in the same position for what seemed like hours. He had returned home around the time he was supposed to, even though he had called in sick at work.

            He had spent the hours at Rick’s house, the man holding him by his side as the lazed on the couch. They talked for hours about everything and nothing, coming up with questions to ask each other. The brunet had fallen asleep at some point, but he was awoken when the man had called his name, asking him if he wanted something to eat. Just thinking about it had him smiling as startling blue eyes looked into his own. The boy found himself frowning as he recalled the event that happened afterwards.

            The taller had asked him where he lived so he could take him home. The teen simply replied with an address, though he didn’t dare tell him about his family. Even when he asked, he diverted his attention to the road, or drew his attention to something else by asking another question. Morty was helped to the care, though he kept insisting he could walk properly, even though he was still limping.

            They drove in silence for a while, the boy recovering from the quick alfredo the taller man, though he also knew the man had something on his mind. Finally, he had spoken, though the smaller only wished he hadn’t as he asked the question that he had been dying to not answer.

            "The person who gave you the cut below your eye – was it the same guy that hurt you today?” he asked, his voice hesitant, but level. The teen only sighed, looking out the window as he replied truthfully.

            "N-No,” he simply stated. Leaning his head on the window again, he averted his attention away from the one whom seemed to be staring directly at him.

            "Then who was it?” he pestered on. There was another silence, the boy not looking at the man as he awaited an answer. He didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at him as he thought back to that day, back to the day before and finally the moment before he left school.

            "I – I’d r-rather not talk about th-this,” the brunet answered, biting his lip as he felt his eyes grow heavy with layering tears. Still not looked at the man, he swallowed think as he tried to not let the overwhelming emotions get to him. As he gazed at his reflection in the glass, he could feel the man’s intense gaze burning into the side of his face as he stared at him. “N-Not n-n-now, anyway. Okay – Alright, R-Rick?” he nearly pleaded, his already crossed arms fidgeting as he played with his sleeves with his fingers.

            A long pause swept over the car, making the boy feel uncomfortable, though he knew the man wasn’t look at him anymore. Finally, it was broken as the man spoke up.

            "Fine,” he said, pulling up to the curb. For a moment, the teen though he was going to make him get out, but he soon realized they were in front of his house. He raised his hand to open the car door, pausing for a moment to look over at the taller and smiled shyly.

            "Th-Thank you,” he stuttered out, unbuckling himself in the process and he was moving to get out, though the man grabbed his hand before he could officially make his leave. When the brunet looked back up, he was taking in a sharp breath as he saw the man had leaned over the space that separated them. The shorter’s cheeks quickly filled with heat as he found himself staring into his clear blue eyes, and he was entranced as the man spoke in a hushed whisper.

            "Don’t thank me for caring about you,” he said, close enough their noses were barely touching. Just grazing, and lips just out of reach. Morty felt his cheeks burn as he felt moved by the man’s statement, though he was speaking on autopilot.

            "Th-That’s not what I – I was r-referring to,” he whispered back, breathlessly as he felt his eyelids drop down as he was looking at the man through half-shut eyes. Whatever way the man took the statement, he knew what he meant because Rick was just  _there_ and he was so  _caring_ and everything felt like a cloud when he was with him, and his stomach bubbled warmly, but he wasn’t sure how exactly to put it in words about how much he was  _appreciative_ of him and how kind he was. Then he was kissing him, and – as much as the teen still wasn’t used to kissing anyone – he still recovered as he raised his hand up to cup the man’s jawline, his fingers feeling his hair as their lips moved in a slow rhythm. Everything felt in slow motion and all he could think about was hands snaking their way to his sides. Gasping, he broke the kiss after he felt the need to breath too strong. He leaned his head away as his breath came in inaudible pants. The man leaned in closer, making him shiver as he placed his lips suggestively upon his neck, kissing the column of it.

            "You’re mine now,” he stated, causing the smaller to shudder against his touch. Sighing softly, he felt the older suck upon the tender flesh. Blunt teeth grazed against the new mark, and he sucked in a mute breath, his legs jerking up as his back arched towards the taller.

            "I – I – I n-need to – need to go,” he got out, feeling exposed in the car, knowing his parents would be looking out for him if he showed up late.

            "Call me later,” Rick tried for as he leaned back. Morty found himself looking into darkened eyes, though he shook himself out of it as he shook his head in response to the command.

            "I c-can’t,” he replied, glancing at the cup holder that now help his ruined phone. The taller cursed, looking at the brunet with another look, though he was merely studying his face. The boy gazed at him another moment before he was ushering the boy out of his car with another parting kiss, making sure he had everything with him before the shorter could even think about shutting it.

            "I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he offered, though his voice sounded more like a statement, like he was going to stop by the café anyway. Morty only nodded, though, knowing he had to work tomorrow.

            "Y-Yeah,” he answered, not wanting to close the door, though he did anyway as he shut it with a quiet thud. He walked to the door as properly as he could manage with his backpack feeling heavy on his shoulders, trying not to let it show. Managing to open his house door with only little difficulty, he didn’t glance back as he stepped through, finding his sister walking through the hallway as she studied the screen of her phone.

            He winced as the door closed, and she was now looking at him with her full attention. She smirked as she saw his ruffed-up features. Shrugging, however, she must’ve though they were old as they were cleaned up and already healed over. Instead of calling him out on it, she walked away as she continued mindlessly texting, smiling at her phone.

            Morty sighed inaudible, remembering as he had made his way up the stairs, staggering only slightly as he climbed dup, putting pressure on muscles in his legs that he hadn’t since the incident that happened merely a few hours ago, mainly because he hadn’t really walked that much; the taller had been persistent on carrying him.

            Now he lay down on his bed, feeling a rush of elation as he remembered what Rick had said before the brunet got out of the car: “You’re mine now.”

            The teen shivered as he recalled it, feeling his heart thud loudly in his chest. His lips curled into a smile as he turned onto his side, feeling his skin come alive as he memorized the way the man had pressed his lips upon his neck. Something akin to dominance as he let his own fingers assiduously brush along the tender flesh, making him tingle in a refreshing manner. Another tremor racked his body.

            "You’re mine now.”

            Those words echoed in his head, making his mind race as he had never held the prospect of being in a relationship before. No one had ever made him feel truly alive like this. Never had he felt the urge to be so close to another human being. Not like this. Not like the raw, pure want he felt for Rick, or the reciprocated feelings.

            "You’re mine now.”

            Biting his lip, he was reminded of the words again. Another rush of bliss waves through him, reminding he’s wanted. The way the syllables passed his lips with such possession.

            "You’re mine now.”

            "Yours,” he stated quietly into his darkened room, letting the sound get swallowed by the unadulterated silence, feeling better than he had in years.


	15. Reminisce

            The teen woke up early the next morning, sitting up with only minor aches in his stomach. Lifting up his shirt, he saw the ugly purple splotched on his stomach were still there. Only they were already starting to yellow at the edges, fading a deep, ugly green. Flopping down on his bed, he sighed as he looked up at the ceiling, recalling everything that happened yesterday.

_"You’re mine now.”_

            The boy shivered, getting up out of his bed as he tried to push out the thought. Looking towards the direction of his old phone which was blaring its alarm, the boy was thankful he hadn’t switched it off or else he would be in trouble. The man had taken his old one with him, seeing as he didn’t have a use for it anymore.

            Walking towards his dresser, he opened the top drawer to retrieve his old phone, one that his parents hadn’t bothered replacing in the past few years, considering he wasn’t the favorite child. However, his sister kept getting her phone replaced every year seeing as she always wanted the latest version of the iPhone. Now, she was on the tenth generation.

            Digging up his old iPhone 3, he sighed as he switched off the alarm. After picking up a different colored shirt, and another pair of skinny jeans, denim this time, he walked towards the door.

            After walking to the bathroom, and turning on the shower again, he went about doing his usual routine. He then stepped out and wrapped a towel around himself, feeling dry enough to put on his clothes after he shook the towel through his hair. Pleased, he let the fabric of his oversized black shirt fall past his hips, ending till it was about level with the parting where his legs separated.

            Walking out of the bathroom, he felt grateful as he didn’t hear any noise in the house. He hurriedly walked to his room, opening the door and closing it behind him as he walked briskly across the room and towards his dresser.

            Opening the bottom drawer, he took out the old shoe box he had been keeping inside it for years. He opened it, smiling as he saw that all his money was still as he left it. Mentally, he counted in his head, keeping tabs on how much he could take. Finally, he came to the conclusion he had about $9,547, minus the amount he’s been getting in tips.

            Rifling through his old jeans, he found all of the dollar bills the man had been giving him, minus the first tip he had given him as his parents had taken that. He had been given $63.40 from him, and Morty felt a small rush of guilt rush over him as he felt as though the man had given him to much in such a little time. Even if it’s been a few weeks, almost a month, they don’t see each other each time. Still, it was just too much, and the boy felt guilt kneading at his insides.

            Stuffing it into his pocket, he shoved the box back into his dresser, covering it up with socks and jeans. That was for another day. The rest would be saved for him getting another place to stay. After he found an apartment, he wouldn’t stay another minute in this place.

            Grabbing his jacket again, throwing it over him, he walked to grab his book bag. He threw it over his shoulder as he grabbed his phone. Stopping by his desk, he grabbed his beanie, deciding that he would wear it at work, considering he hadn’t washed his hair that morning. He shoved it in his bag, making his way out the door and towards the school.

            Thoughts drifted, and he sighed softly as he recalled everything dramatic that’s happened throughout the past month. Trying his best to stop, he smiled as he thought about meeting Rick for the first time. After having been curt with him, the teen now knew he wasn’t as insolent as he made him seem at first. The time spent texting was a big help. A blush forced its way onto his cheeks as he remembered the man calling him cute. Sighing once more, he shook his head as he brushed off the giddy feeling he had.

            He walked on, his body feeling much better that it had, though it hid feel a bit numb. Turning the corner, he was in the school yard. It was only 7:36. School started in twenty-four minutes. There was plenty of time to get to class and then some.

            He walked to his first class, and sat in his regular seat as usual. Deciding to pass time, he pulled out his phone, grabbing his earbuds from his pocket and he plugged them into his phone. Going to his playlist, he tapped a random song.

            Crossing his arms, he sat back as he listened to the soft sounds of the song’s melody flows into his ears. Biting his lip, he tuned into the music and let his thoughts vanish into thin air, though blue was still a prominent color as he closed his eyelids. Unaware of anything happening around him, he almost jumped as he heard the bell ring. The shrill sound was overbearing compared to his music, signaling it was time to get to class.

            Quickly, he took out his earbuds, clicking off his song from the lock screen and he was stuffing them both into his pocket. Leaning back again, he watched the students pile into the room along with the teacher who had to watch the hallway each morning. Before was the warning bell. That was for students to know class would start soon. Now, as his peers took their seats and got settled in, the actual class bell started, beckoning the day had begun.

            "Alright, class, take out a writing utensil. We’re going to have a test this period,” the teacher instructed, having the class groan in response. Morty simply sighed, taking out a pen as he preferred them over pencils. He glanced at the clock, already knowing the day was going to be long.

            Relief rushed through as he walked out of the school building. Having not run into any incidents that day, he was putting his earbuds back into his ears. Turning away from the path he used to get to the school in the first place, he started walking in the other direction, toward the coffee shop.

            Putting his phone in his pocket, he walked further on as he kept walking, humming quietly to himself as he did so. Arriving with time to spare, he spotted one of the workers attending to someone. Earbuds out, he went behind the counter to get his apron. Going to the back, he set his bag down and took off his jacket. It was uncomfortable to wear with his apron. Opening his bag, he kneeled down to get his hat out and put his jacket in.

            Standing up, hat thrown over his hair, he had let it fall to where it was about halfway on, his curly hair falling onto his forehead as it framed his face. There wasn’t a doubt he looked every bit of the barista he was. He tied the apron around his neck, and he heard the door open behind him. Bonne was there, a petite girl in her late twenties. Finished with tying the apron around his waist, he smiled at the woman.

            "Nice to see you, Morty,” she said. The boy nodded at the dirty blonde headed girl.

            "N-Nice to see you, t-too,” he replied, walking past her as he walked out the door. Someone was at the counter, so he put on a friendly smile as he took out his pen and notepad from his apron pocket.

            "W-What can I g-get for you, sir?” he asked, walking toward the customer whom seemed to be glanced around with a confused expression. He looked over at the boy and smiled with a breath of relief.

            "I thought it was closed for a second,” he said, his voice thick and gravely in a sleazy kind of way. Morty simply smiled at him, clicking his pen as he prepared himself to write the man’s order if it were complicated. “Can I get an iced latte?” he requested. The cashier grinned before he was typing up in the cash register.

            "Of c-course. W-What size cup?” he questioned, going over the standard ones. The patron narrowed his eyes as he thought.

            "Large,” he finally stated, making the boy nod before he was typing it up.

            "Th-That’ll be six t-twenty-five,” the brunet informed, and the man nodded before getting out his wallet and handing over a ten-dollar bill.

            Morty took it and made quick change, hold it up for the man. “Three s-seventy-five is y-your change.” Dropping it into the man’s hand, he turned around and started making his cup of coffee. The bell chimed above the door as he reached up to grab a clear cup. A voice spoke up from behind him.

            "Eyes up, pal,” he heard Rick’s gruff tone speak. He glanced over his shoulder to see the current customer hastily looking up from where the smaller assumed was his ass. Morty looked back to what he was doing, stepping down. Fixing his shirt so it fell over his backside, he grabbed a scoopful of ice and plopped them in before he was pouring in the man’s coffee and other ingredients. He was finished making the drink quickly, and he was turning around with a polite enough smile.

            "H-Here you are,” he said, handing it to the man and the customer gave him a wink.

            "Maybe you should give me a call sometime?” he offered, making the boy furrow his brows, but he kept his smile, however it tight now.

“I r-really shouldn’t,” he responded, making the current customer turn confused.

            "And why not, sweet cheeks?” he asked, making the boy want to cringe, but he kept his eyes level as he put on a bright smile.

            "B-Because I d-don’t want to,” he replied, filling with pride as he heard Rick chuckle. Looking over to his boyfriend, he saw him looking to the boy with an amused smile, trying to repress it by gliding his thumbnail over his bottom lip. He took a moment to grin back, watching the taller look over his stature, his body roaming his body, analyzing him with an appreciative gaze.

            He heard the bell ring as the customer left and Morty glanced over before he was grabbing his pen and notepad, looking at Rick with a bright smile. “S-So, w-what can I get y-you?”


	16. Gift

             A large coffee this time – with sugar,” he said, his tone sounding exhausted. Morty looked up at him with shock, but the taller had an amused smile on his face. Instead of worrying, the teen took it at face value, knowing the man would tell him if it were serious. Most likely, he was a bit tired, if not from last night’s late conversation, then today’s early rising. He typed in the numbers, already knowing the total. Obviously, it was a different total this time.

            "F-Four fifty it y-you total,” he replied, smiling as the man already had out his wallet and was passing him another twenty-dollar bill.

            "Keep the change,” he stated, a small smirk on his face. The barista huffed a breath, looking up at Rick with a pointed stare.

            "Y-You’ve tip-tipped me enough over th-the pasted,” the smaller commented, making change before he held up the fifteen dollars and fifty cents. The man chuckled, shaking his head as he didn’t bother moving. The teen only sighed again, blowing air to push his hair away from his face. It didn’t work, so he flicked it to the side, turning around to go about making his cup of coffee.

            Blue eyes upon him, observing him as he went about making the drink. They burned into his spine like a physical heat. Trying to push it away, he reached up to grab a lid, blushing as he had to get onto his toes. That earned him a chuckle from the older one behind him. After he topped the cup, he turned around to give it to Rick, flushing heavily as he saw him smiling at him fondly. The brunet smiled back, shyly reaching over to give the man the cup.

            "You know; you seem like you should be shorter,” the older commented, slowly pulling his hand back, carefully as to not drop the cup. The ten paused, furrowing his eyebrows. Biting his lip, he remembered he was on a raised platform and he recalled having not been on the same level with him. Even when he was being helped to his car. That’s all the help really was, which was probably why he didn’t seem the right height.

            "Hold on,” he started, putting his things down and grabbed the now balled up pieces of discarded paper. In a quick second’s decision, he walked down the back of the counter, leaning down to throw the old orders away and he stepped down the decent height of 3 steps. He thought about the times how he had been mainly chin level with Rick the whole time he had been to the café. Now, they were on the same ground.

            Awkwardly so, he walked around the counter, hesitant as he felt himself heat up with nerves. Looking up, he found Rick gazing at him with mixed emotion of delight and wonder with a hint of something else. Something he couldn’t place, but it was akin to a pleased fondness. Nervously, he walked slower, freezing up as he held onto his arm, a kind of shield.

            "Come here,” the older instructed, and Morty was defenseless to follow orders. He walked towards the man, flushing brightly as he stood up straight, making him tower over the small teen and the brunet had to angle his head up to remain keeping eye contact.

            It didn’t help when Rick pulled him flush against his own body when the shorter was close enough for him to. The brunet turned a dark crimson, the taller’s arms snaking their way around his hips. Biting his lip, he awkwardly placed his arms at Rick’s chest before he was snaking them around the taller one’s neck.

            Now he was a little below chest level, his body covered by Rick’s. There wasn’t anywhere to look, so he settled on the man’s bright blue eyes, gazing into them as he felt the pull he always had. The bright mixture of blues swirling together in a florescent ocean.

            "H-Hi,” Morty found himself stuttering out, blushing lightly as the man smiled fondly down at him.

            "Hey, baby,” he replied, making the cashier’s face burn, though he pushed himself onto his toes as he pulled down on the taller’s neck, pressing their lips together. They were in a relationship, as far as he could tell, so he deemed himself allowed the privileges it came with.

            After a moment, he pulled away, falling back until his feet were flat on the ground and he was looking up at his boyfriend who he slackened his grip on. Though, Rick was moving to follow the teen’s mouth, making the brunet giggle as he kissed him again. Avoiding risks, he turned his head away, looking back when Rick had pulled back slightly.

            "You’re such a tease,” he joked, smirking as he pulled away. Morty only smiled sheepishly, feeling his cheeks redden again. As he looked up at Rick through his lashes, making the man try and lean down to kiss him again. The smaller let out a laugh, though let their mouths linger, liking the content feel of the taller’s firm ones against his own, brushing them against each other in a sweet kiss.

            They finally pulled away, Rick glancing up at his hair before he was gazing at him again. “You look cute with this thing on,” he noted, making the brunet’s chest feel warm. He hummed, observing the man’s features fleetingly before he was pulling away from him entirely.

            "Thank you,” he mumbled as he turned away, walking to his place behind the counter. As he looked up at his boyfriend, Rick seemed to remember something as his eyes widened and he was pulling something from his pocket. Something which seemed to be the man’s phone.

            "You left your phone in my car,” he stated, holding out the object towards him. There was a smile on his face. One the teen didn’t understand. Why he would be giving him back his busted phone was beyond him, but the boy assumed it was because of sentimental reasons, or he wasn’t aware of what to do with it, and didn’t want to throw it away in case the other wanted to keep it. Still, Morty shook his head.

            "It wasn’t d-doing me any good. I get one l-later,” he replied, picking up his pen and notepad, sticking them in the pockets of his apron.

            "I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Rick replied, insisting he take it as he pressed it further towards him. The brunet furrowed his eyebrows as he looked back up at him.

            "W-What do you . . .” he started, glancing down at the phone in his hand, his eyes flickering to Rick before doing a double-take. It startled him to see the taller holding what appeared to be a brand-new phone. Not Morty’s old one, which had been a simple iPhone 5. This one was an iPhone 8+, completed with a durable case and screen protector. The teen looked back at him, eyes wide and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him as Rick looked at him with an expected smile.

            "N-No,” the brunet started, raising his hand up to push Rick’s back as he refused the phone. “I c-can’t.” He felt his chest tug as he watched the man’s expression fall, his brows furrowing. It didn’t matter, though. The shame of taking something so expensive from the man after he had already given him so much money in tips was too much. Speaking of which, he glanced over at the fifteen fifty that seemed to taunt him where it lay on the counter: innocent enough.

            He snatched it up. After having counted in his head, it would be almost 100 dollars if he were to have taken it. Although he didn’t keep it all, it was still too much, and he couldn’t handle it. “I – I also c-can’t ac-accept this,” he told him, looking up with a pleading expression on his face.

            "Why not?” he asked, and the boy let out a huff as he left his hands fall to the counter. Not bothering with the fact it erupted a small pain with the thud when he did so, even if Rick winced slightly.

             "I – I j-just can’t,” he tried for, looking down at the bills still burning holes in his hand. “I d-don’t w-want you m-money,” he stated, disinterested as he thought about everything the taller had given him. Yet, he still offered, and the teen did nothing but take. Almost as though he though Morty needed it.

            "Just take it,” the man persisted, rolling his eyes as he tried to press the phone back towards the smaller.

            "But I d-don’t want it,” he assured, trying to make the man let it go as he felt himself become increasingly more frustrated by the second.

            "Look, it’s not a big deal,” Rick brushed off, only to be stopped by the boy.

            "It is to m-me,” he nearly snapped, looking at the man with an almost pointed stare. They gazed at one another and finally he was reaching forward to take the change, looking at Morty with an almost pained expression.

            "Look, I’m sorry –” Rick started, only for the smaller to cut him off again.

            "D-Don’t,” he interrupted, looking down at the counter. A wave of relief crashed over him as he physically drained in front of the man, relaxing as he sighed. “J-Just don’t,” he repeated, looking up and Rick could only nod at the boy looked vulnerable.

            Still, he held the phone out, and pressed it forward. “I’m not leaving you alone until you take this,” he informed, and the brunet tensed again. Instead of denying him, though, he held his breath as he thought it over.

            Finally, he sighed, slumping over the counter as he held his hand, feeling the light-weight phone being pressed into his palm. It still felt heavy as the solidified thousand-dollar guilt was fragile in his clumsy fingertips. He looked down, turning it over in his hands and he breathed in deeply.

            "Y-You know; I w-would’ve bought my own l-later,” he informed, looking up with a glum expression. Rick only offered a small smile.

            "Well, this saves you the trouble. I obviously had to buy it in my name, but if that bothers you, we can get it switched, if you want,” he explained. The boy sighed, looking away as he put the phone in his pocket.

            As he thought about it, he wondered if it was such a good idea. Being the way he was, there was no guarantee he would be able to repay the man, and putting it in his own name seemed too selfish. Still, it was obviously activated, and that was only more Rick was spending on a plan for the both of them. Anxiety had filled him ever since the man handed it over. Now, he was only filled with dread as he wondered how long it would be before he either broke it, or lost it. He could only think of the worst outcomes as possible scenarios swirled about vividly in his head. Still, he didn’t want to put so much stress on having a large phone.

            "It's okay,” he started, trying to offer a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Perhaps he could get it switched to a smaller phone, in his own name later. He already had an account set up, and his money was still tucked neatly away in his shoebox. For now, he could only gaze at his boyfriend that smiled back at him, almost apologetic, but still smug somehow. He was going to get this fixed later. He didn’t need Rick’s help. Morty was an adult.


	17. Cut Off

_‘What are you doing now?’_

_Sent 6:00_

            Morty looked before his at the chip bag he had been steadily eating from. Before his legs was his opened math binder, turned to his latest homework assignment. Math notes were strewn across his bed as he had gotten out his notebook. Huffing out a breath, he started tapping away on his phone.

            Earlier, he had admired it, looking at the glossy screen and clicking carefully through a few apps. When he had settled onto his bed and took out his English homework, Rick had texted him. After having worked the rest of his shift without the man, he lost the urge to fight. It was still there, but the persistence had become dormant. Now, he was passive-aggressive about it since he still felt slightly stressed about having a new priority on his hands.

            Going to the phone store had been out of the question when he got off, too. Closing hour had been half an hour before he closed up shop, and he didn’t have any money with him. He also didn’t think they would be very convinced to give him a phone with the same number considering he didn’t know where that phone was anymore. Whether the taller kept it, or threw it away, he wasn’t sure.

_‘My math homework. :(‘_

_Read 6:02_

_‘What’s wrong with math?’_

_Sent 6:03_

            That had the teen letting out a small laugh. Everything was wrong with math. For him at least. Without adding the last part, he told the man so, and he waited the reply as he grabbed a clean sheet of scrap paper. Using one of the formulas he was taught, he went about solving the last problem he stopped on, but his phone buzzed, saving him from the strenuous work.

_‘Would you like some help?’_

_Sent 6: 03_

            The boy snorted, shaking his head as he looked down at the paper before him. As much as he doesn’t like math, he couldn’t let Rick help. Not because he didn’t want the man to give him the wrong answer, he wouldn’t do that. The brunet didn’t even know Rick’s knowledge of math, but he knew he had to do the work himself. Besides, the man had given him so much. It seemed a bit too much. As he looked down at the work, however, all he could see is the hours he’s going to spend working on it. Sighing, he started texting a reply.

_‘Think you can remember how to solve it?’_

_Read 6:05_

            Morty only realized he had been jibing at his age, but he only hoped the man understood what he meant. It’s not like he thinks Rick is old, the man knew that. Or – at least – he should.

_‘You don’t know me. I’m great at math.’_

_Sent 6:05_

            The teen paused, thinking about how true the statement was. He really didn’t know a thing about the man. It rattled his brain as he thought about it. Biting his lip, he then sighed, not really wanting to do the work alone, especially since he had zoned out when it was being taught.

_‘Better dust off your calculator, then. This one’s a doozy.’_

_Read 6:06_

_‘Bring it on.’_

_Sent 6:06_

            After admiring how they could banter like this, the teen snapped a quick picture of his paper and he sent it to the man. Waiting for his reply, he started trying to work out the problem himself. He was in the middle of writing it down when he got a text back. In the few minutes it took, his phone had went to sleep. Simply sliding it unlocked, he saw the man already solved it.

_‘Child’s play.’_

_Sent 6:08_

             Seeing the picture attached to it was his work he barely had to do as Morty only seen a few scribbles. He quickly solved the problem as best as he could, furrowing his brows as he found that was the right answer.

_‘That’s right. How did you do that so fast?’_

_Read 6:14_

_‘I’m very talented when it comes to math – and science. I have a real knack for it.’_

_Sent 6:15_

            The brunet had mixed feeling about that: While he liked learning new things about his boyfriend, he was envious about his own problem. Deciding to brush it off, he raised his phone to text back. He wiped off the residue of the chips on his jeans, making sure not to dirty his phone.

_‘I’m terrible at math, and it’s a mutual for science. I can write okay-ish, though.’_

_Read 6:16_

           That was a lie, he would like to believe. It wasn’t like he was lazy, or unintelligent. His grades were average. The thing is that he didn’t write. His learning disability didn’t really allow him much control, though he knew it was his own fault. Just because his dyslexia made it hard, didn’t mean it held him back. Sometimes he just wants to blame something other than himself. It was just easier to say it was because of something beyond his control.

           Putting his phone down, he went back to trying to solve another problem. All he had to do were 6 more, though he needed to show work for the last one. He was in the middle of writing when Rick texted.

_‘You like writing?’_

_Sent 6:17_

_‘Yeah, kind of. I guess.’_

_Read 6:17_

             The teen sighed, putting his phone down before he was back to work, only to have to put his pen down again and pick his phone back up.

_‘I used to write songs. I was in a band once.’_

_Sent 6:18_

            The boy paused, glancing at his work before he was typing another reply. Usually he would be all over his work, but he really just wanted to talk to the taller. Plus, he was more exciting than math. That much was obvious.

_‘Really? You don’t really strike me for a person who would perform.’_

_Read 6:20_

_‘Yeah? I played bass guitar. It was a bad I started with my two best friends when we were in college.’_

_Sent 6:22_

            Morty sat there, trying to picture what a younger version of Rick would look like. Did he have tattoos? Were they still there? Was his hair wild and messy, or had he always kept it somewhat controlled? Perhaps it had always been the tame windswept style he had it.

_‘I’m having a hard time picturing that.’_

_Read 6:24_

_‘Hold on.’_

_Sent 6:24_

            Morty sat there for a few minutes, going back to his homework as he waited for the man to return. He had solved another problem and was starting on another one before the man was texting back was buzz of his phone.

            The boy unlocked it, but instead of seeing a message, there was a picture. He clicked on it, finding it consisted of three guys standing in a line.

            There was a short ginger with an apple face covered in freckles on the left, holding up drumsticks as he grinned mischievously at the camera. On the right was a man whom seemed solidly built. Possible Asian with narrow eyes and olive skin. Black hair and a stoic expression made up his features. Still, he looked young with his round cheeks, though his face was long. He seemed to be the singer as he almost awkwardly held up a microphone.

             The person in the middle is what startled him the most. He seemed in as much as he could without making the image blurry. He studied his face, seeing how his lips curved at one corner to form a familiar, yet not prominent as the one now. This was a picture full of strangers, but this one was someone he recognized. He looked smug, but still held modestly as his bright blue eyes looked kind. Even if his left bow was quirked up.

            Morty zoomed back out, looking at his stature and he found himself once again shocked by the clothing – or lack of, more like. The revealing blue tank top along with the sleeveless button up best left open left little to the imagination. It didn’t show too much as the guitar he had strapped around him covered up most of everything the teen was willing to see. Rick was wearing seemingly skin-tight skinny jeans. Multiple rips and chains were connected to them, the tears cutting below the picture, even, as it cut off suddenly. If he tried hard enough, he thought he could see a bit of darkness around his right shoulder. His hair was swept wildly to the side, stray hairs crossing over his forehead. The boy clicked out of the picture and saw the man texted again.

_‘What do you think?’_

_Sent 6:31_

_‘Well . . . you seem really different now.’_

_Read 6:35_

_‘In a good way?’_

_Sent 6:35_

_‘Well, I’m not going to lie. Both versions of you are very attractive.’_

            He backspaced, feeling lame for typing something even remotely smooth. Fluidity was not his strong suit, and he felt silly for trying. As he went to do that, however, he ended up hitting send by accident, and he threw his phone down, mortified. Soon, he witnessed the word change, meaning the man had saw what he had said. Before he could try and typed out something that seemed less implying, he was getting a call from the man. His heart jumped, and he hesitantly picked up his phone before he was listening to any sound in his house.

            When he became aware that no one was upstairs, the television from downstairs becoming louder as he listened, he returned to his phone, sliding the screen to answer the call. He held it up hesitantly to his ear, holding his breath as the cool screen was pressed against his face.

            “He-Hello?” he asked, listening to a slight shuffle on the other line before the man was replying.

_“Which version of me is more attractive?”_ came his voice, and the boy felt his face flush. It was so easy to picture him with the same smirk in the photo. Now, he could see both versions at once as he thought about it. Though, they both merged and all he could see was the Rick now.

            “D-Depends,” Morty said, only to tease. It was worth it as could so effortlessly see a shift in his imaginary Rick’s eyes. Almost looking off with a darkened gaze. Images of him sitting on a chair, perhaps leaning back, relaxed and smiling slightly. Not now, however. Now, he could picture him with a raised brow and narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what the teen was talking about.

_“On?”_  he insisted, his tone urging. Borderline demanding. Morty felt himself shiver at the evocative tone from such a simple statement. Still, he didn’t want to put it in that place that fast.

            “Y-Your style of clothing is s-so dif-differing now,” he said, and he heard the man chuckle lowly over the phone. Morty liked the image, finding the man’s smile very attractive.

_“Well, I was a bit . . . heavier in style back then,”_ he explained, though there was something in his tone as he went back to his previous question.  _“Depends on what?”_ There was any more room for games, and Morty let out a soundless breath as he heard himself speak. The truth was going to come out sooner or later. It was inevitable. It was what he knew what would lead to what he was trying to postpone.

            “The ‘n-now’ v-version is,” Morty replied instead, feeling his cheeks heat up as he bit his lip. He looked at the wall, his imagination going wild as he saw his version of Rick in his head smirking again. He felt a slight lip in his stomach, though he knew he wasn’t ready to do anything explicit so early in their relationship.

_“Yeah?”_ the man asked, his voice becoming more gravely. It only served to make the boy lightheaded as he thought about the man with a hungry look in his eyes.

            “Y-Yeah,” he replied, breathlessly as his voice shook. He heard the man let out a low sound, though his heart pounded as he heard footsteps coming upstairs. Dread filled him as the sound came closer to his door. Quickly, he clicked off of the call, shoving the phone under his pillow as he picked up is binder where he was previously doing work on.

            In came his father, looking at him with a stern glare.

            “Who were you talking to?” he interrogated, and Morty looked up at him with feigned confusion, or at least attempting it.

            “I – I don’t know what you mean,” he said, trying his best not to stutter. His dad looked at him again, suspicious of his antics. Looking over the things he held out before him, he didn’t see anything out of place. Expect the chips, though he wasn’t really worried. They were merely plain, and the boy knew his father was more of a fan of barbecue.

            He glared at the teen again, looking him over before he was shaking his head and walking out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. Morty sighed as he got up to close the door. Hearing a small buzz go off from its place under his pillow, he was thankful the man hadn’t texted when his father was still in the room.

            He briskly walked over, raising his pillow up to get the phone from under it. Sliding it unlocked again, he was reading the message the man had sent him.

_‘What happened?’_

_Sent 6:48_

_‘My dad walked in the room.’_

_Read 6:49_

_‘Call me back? I wasn’t done.’_

_Sent 6:50_

_‘I still have homework to do.’_

_Read 6:52._

           Morty worried at his lip as he looked over the work he had yet to finish. It was also an excuse not to be on the phone again. Of course, he liked the man, but he didn’t want to do something like that right now. He wasn’t ready.

_‘I can help you with the math.’_

_Sent 6:53_

           Theboy sighed, knowing he didn’t want to do it, so he shrugged, agreeing. They talked for a few more hours, and Morty was slowly learning more things about the man. When they finally bid each other farewell, he felt himself tiredly falling against his bed, chip bag half empty and soda gone.

            Fallingon his back, he smiled comfortable. Things were going well.


	18. Bittersweet

            When he woke up that morning, he was drenched with sweet, his heart was still beating fast from the dream he had woken from just seconds ago. Breathing heavily, his limbs were unable to move. Paralyzed, and disorientated, he blinked rapidly as he tried to remember where he was; who he was. Slowly, he let himself relax. Still, he was immobilized with fear, reliving his nightmare in vivid detail as it was still fresh in his mind.

            Finally, he found a use of his limbs as he pushed his cover off of his body. Hesitantly so, he sat up, feeling as though the world around him were still a fabrication of his imagination. The throbbing in his head as he pushed himself up made him hiss in pain. So, he fell back onto his pillow, his heart race going down again.

            He reached over to click on his phone. Unfortunately, he hadn’t woken up at his alarm. More regrettably, he woke up earlier than the alarm. Judging by the lack of light shining through his curtains, he knew it was still the middle of the night. It was only 3:56 in the morning. Too early to be up he noted with a small groan.

            He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to bed, so he stayed awake. Glancing around, he looked over at his book back which had been laying in the same place for the past few days. It was Sunday morning, and he had to get ready for work in half an hour. Lazing on his bed, he felt himself slowly drifting back to sleep, but he was brought back awake as his alarm finally blared.

            After finding the strength to get up, he pushed himself to sitting position again. His head dully ached as he did so, but he knew he couldn’t waste any more time. He clicked his phone on, sighing as he saw it was still there and still taunted him with being new. That was the reason of his nightmare.

            The guilt he felt from yesterday resurfaced in his dreams and consumed him there. It reincarnated itself into a representation of a monster, eating him alive as he watched in horror. The entity of his shame was visualized as something he couldn’t explain. It just felt dark and brooding, and it made him shudder. He checked the time, 4:37. Sighing, he walked over to get his clothes ready for the day, standing on stiff legs.

            He looked into his bottom drawer again, and he was pulling out his box again. It was almost like second habit. Always wanting to make sure all there. It was his safety as it would be his ticket out of this house. There was a different reasoning behind it today. As he made a quick decision, his emotions conflicted him.

            Everything just seemed too real, and too much like a dream. Though, his dream today was more of a nightmare. Shuddering again, he was pulling out a few hundreds. Before he could consider, he put the box back and stuffed the cash into his jacket pocket, shoving it under his mattress before he was going to the bathroom to take a shower.

            When he came back, he searched for his umbrella, finding it in his closet among the things he had shoved into the cramped space he didn’t really have a use for. Not as of now, at least.

            Getting it out wasn’t a hassle, though it was trying to find it that was exasperating. Many clothes and boxes along with a lot of other junk was shoved into the same space over the years. He finally saw it in the far corner. Grabbing it, he pulled it up and out of the closet, almost stumbling as it didn’t give way immediately.

            Sighing, he struggled to reach it. Once he got it, he pulled up, easily sliding it out. Finally, he was stepping back, and holding the plain black umbrella. He smiled, feeling satisfied and he was straightening out his green shirt and tugging his denim jeans back up his hips and he was walking over to get his shoes and pull them on.

            He breathed out a huff, grabbing his jacket from under his mattress and he was putting it on. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he was heading off, umbrella in hand.

            Stepping out onto the pathway to his house, he found himself hurriedly opening his umbrella, already starting to become drenched as he stood there. Finally, he had it open, feeling more aware of the large amount of money he had in his pocket. Anxiety coursed through his veins as he knew at any moment someone could attack him, but he tried not to be too nervous. Tried not to give himself away. Trepidation didn’t set in until he was a few blocks away, but it was too late to turn back now.

            He was stepping up to the back door, opening it as it was already unlocked. Only selective people had access to the keys. Morty had been working for 2 years at the store, and his promotion after a year allowed him permission for a lot of things. Bonnie was the manager, meaning she had free range of doing and telling people what to do. A few more people were allowed as well, most of them having been working at the store for an abundance of time, though they were able to trade them off as the all worked different hours. As the manager, the blonde was the one mostly in charge of them, and she worked the most hours. Morty found it a weird system, but he never questioned it. It was efficient enough. There had never been a mishap before, so he just decided to let things roll.

            Folding his umbrella back up, he shook it off outside before he was stepping inside through the back doors, his sneakers squeaking as he stepped on the tile. He put the parasol in the corner of the room, leaving it to dry as he took off his jacket and put it upon a hanger. Biting his lip, he peaking around, finding no one. Usually, if Bonnie were the one to open, she would be up front by now, starting coffee and checking to make sure nothing needed straightening up. Taking the moment of clarity, he hurriedly took the money from his jacket and shoved it into his jeans, doing the same to his phone, making sure the money was divided into each pocket evenly as to not raise suspicion. Every pocket except his left back one.

            Walking out the back door, he glanced around to find a new person. They had to have been working a few days, though, as they were already switching on coffee pots. This confused him before he tuned into the rattling of pots and pans, knowing Bonnie must’ve been in the kitchen, but he supposed he looked he over. Now, however, he could see her indecisive hands trailing over the buttons as though she were wondering if she were doing it right. Shrugging, he went behind the counter and grabbed his apron, tying it around himself before he heard a slight sound of surprise.

            The brunet turned around, trying to see the unbalance, but the girl working was only looking at him with her hand to his chest, breathing raggedly. The boy smiled sheepishly, seeing it was the girl Brad had been dating before she dramatically broke up with him in this very store. Her name was Jessica, and Morty had only known that because she had come in with a few friends and he had finally learned her name. Before then, it had always been a mystery.

            "S-Sorry, d-did I scare y-you?” he asked, raising his hand to rub at his arm. The girl merely smiled, though a little uneasy. The exchange was already awkward enough without them having this as the ice-breaker.

            "Yeah, a little bit,” she admitted, her voice wavering. Morty offered a small grin before he was walking into the back to start making the dough for all the pastries they served. It’s not like he didn’t know if she was qualified, but he couldn’t be sure. Besides, they couldn’t waste time, and he was never good at making small talk.

            The door opened behind him, and he knew Jessica had followed. With a handful of ingredient, he turned around, glancing at her as he went about his way around the kitchen. He felt a bit unnerved as she stood there, though she seemed to be a bit uncomfortable, too, rubbing the back of her neck as the boy turned around.

            Upon placing the materials on the island in the middle of the room, he noticed she seemed hesitant, and he turned around to look at her, furrowing his brows as she looked like she wanted to say something.

            "I – Is s-something wrong, J-Jessica?” he asked, not wanting to suffocate in the tension any longer than he had to. She looked up at him, shaking her head. Pausing, she let out a breath and finally opened her mouth.

            "I just wanted to say I’m sorry about Brad. He didn’t have a right to do what he did, and you seem, nice, so I thought you should hear it from someone,” she said, sounding remorseful of even bringing it up. The teen was taken aback, blinking as he felt his cheeks heat up, remembering the things the darker boy had said. Still, he found himself shaking his head, going back to making the batter. Obviously, she had dealt with second-hand embarrassment, but he didn’t think it mattered. If he was going to get an apology, it would be from the person doing the wrong. Her words, however kind they may be, didn’t mean anything to him.

            "D-Don’t w-worry about it,” he brushed off, smiling over to her gratefully. “M-Mind helping m-me?” he asked, and she was blushing as she remember that she was supposed to be working.

            "Oh, yeah, sorry,” she said, grabbing a glass bowl and she started to making a batch of cookies. The brunet sighed, feeling comfortable as he felt relaxed with baking. He was about to pour his brownie batter into a pan when he saw the girl had flattened the cookies as she put them onto the sheet. Morty found himself staring, wanting to say something, but he was never good at telling people what to do. As he kept watching over her, however, he remembered his first time on the job. It all ended up being one huge flat mess. No one had bothered telling him what would happened, and he was completely mortified. Especially as the people he was working with started gripping as he saw he had done it wrong. Bonnie – who hadn’t previously been there to witness him pressing them down – however, got onto them as they should’ve told him what to do, and it was their fault, as far as she was concerned.

            Clearing his throat to get her attention, he was finally speaking up as she started flattening another one.

            "U-Um, you m-might want to use a c-cookie sheet – and t-try rolling them into l-little – into s-sphuh-spheres, it flattens out when you bale it,” the teen said smiling sheepishly at her as she looked up at him, staring as he talked.

            “Oh, I didn’t know that,” she said, taking her hand back as she looked at the cookies, glancing at the boy to offer him a small smile. “Um, where is that?” she asked.

            Turning around and walking to the cabinet, Morty reach up to grab the waxed paper they had tons of. He smiled as he turned around, handing it to her as she got down putting the cookies back into the bowl she had. The boy went back to his own batter, pouring it into the deep pan and taking it to one of the many ovens to bake it. He turned back around seeing she was doing better and he nodded, feeling pleased with himself.

            While picking up the ingredients to make another dessert, the girl was clearing her throat, getting his attention. He turned around to see her smiling at him as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

            "I was wondering if you would want to spend the afternoon with me. I’m not doing anything later, and you seem like a cool guy,” she said, and the brunet widened his eyes in surprise, stuttering out a response. He didn’t like saying ‘No’ to people, especially if he hardly knew them.

            "U-Uh, sha-sure. W-What are we doing?” he asked, tilting his head to the side as he looked at her curiously.

            "Walk around the park, maybe. It  _has_ just rained, so I don’t think a lot of people will be there,” she answered, finally finishing up getting the cookies on the tray and she was walking over to the same over Morty had put his brownies in. He furrowed his brows, but he didn’t say anything. He pulled out his phone as he glanced at the clock.

            "Whoa, nice phone,” she appreciated, seemingly surprised that he had it. Morty found himself flushing, feeling another wave of guilt flood his system as he thought about how the phone had come into his possession. He bit his lip as he tucked it back into his pocket.

            "Thanks, m-my b-boyfriend bought it f-for me,” he replied, her face filling with confusion as she saw the look on his face, though there was something else on her face as Morty mentioned Rick. Something close to disappointment. 

            Still, she shook it off, her concern outweighing what the boy wasn’t even sure he saw. “What do you mean?” she asked, and the boy didn’t even have to ask her to clarify.

            "It's j-just that . . .” he sighed, rubbing his face with his hands as he leaned over the table. He tried to word it correctly in his mind, though nothing was coming up; it was all blank. ‘H-He’s b-been giving m-me a lot, and I – I d-don’t – I’m n-not sure if I c-can repay him,” he finished, looking up from his hands and she was looking off to the side with a thoughtful expression, nodding her head as if she were trying to process the words into a bigger picture.

            "I understand what you’re saying, and I know where you’re coming from, but have you ever asked yourself: ‘What if he wants to all these things because he cares?’ Maybe he just doesn’t know how to say what he really means?” she said, looking back at him, though the tone in her voice was vague and droning. Morty bit his lip, furrowing his brows. He didn’t know if he should ask any protruding questions. Instead, he kept them to himself, not wanting to make her uncomfortable if she didn’t want to talk about it. For now, he pushed that out of his mind to wonder his own situation.

            What if Rick was doing all this because he cared? That would somehow explain the phone. It wouldn’t explain the tips, though. There was a long pause as the teen tried to decipher what it all meant. Obviously, noticing his concentration, the redhead decided to take his mind off of it.

            "How long have you guys been together?” she asked, though Morty wasn’t sure. Quickly, he counted off the days on his fingers, furrowing his eyebrows as he recalled it being only a few days they got together before he had given the boy the phone. The month and a half they known each other before the teen’s birthday didn’t count. They didn’t officially start dating until four days after his birthday, which was almost a month ago, though it’s only been three weeks since they’ve been together.

            "Th-Three w-weeks,” he said, looking back at her as he gouged her expression. Her eyebrows shot up as he looked at him with wide eyes, her lips parting in shock.

            "And he’s already buying you a phone?” she asked, her tone pitched higher. The brunet only nodded, feeling taken aback as she chuckled, shaking her head.

            "W-What?” he asked, but she merely shook her head, looking back at him again before she was laughing again, repeating the movement with her head.

            “Nothing. It’s just . . . never mind,” she said, peering at him again before stifling another chuckle. He furrowed his brows as he unknowing of what she was talking about, but he supposed it was none of his business, even if she was laughing at him. He felt left out of the joke, but he simply looked down at the table as he thought about all the man has done in the past. He found himself shaking his head, though the thought was still there, holding a lot of truth to it. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Perhaps she just thought it was extravagant for the way he cared so diligently for the boy. Maybe her thought process was the taller was just trying to get into the teen’s pants.

            The theory he painted for himself made his blood run cold. Obviously, he would never let him on gifts alone, and while he did like the man, he wasn’t so easily ready for things such as that, even talking about it. Morty sure hoped he was wrong. Even as he tried to reassure himself, the uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away.

            Was this all just a game to him?


	19. Shame

            The boy looked at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Nervousness ran through his body in a series of flurries. He hadn’t spent time with another person outside of his family. Well, except Rick, but this was different. This was his chance at finally make a friend.

            The bell chimed overhead, and he looked up, finally seeing Rick walking into the café. Another rush of nerves ran through his system. Sighing, the money in his pocket felt like a huge burden. There was about s few hundred in his pocket, almost a thousand. This morning, he had searched Google on how much they cost in current stores. It was a range, the most being around 900 dollars.

            "Hey. W-What would you l-like?” he asked with a tight smile, feeling anxious about what he wanted to do so much he felt as though he wasn’t going to.

            "What’s wrong?” the man inquired in return, his brows furrowing as he already picked up on the teen’s strange attitude. Morty felt himself take a deep breath before he was letting it out in a whoosh. Gathering the courage, he pulled his phone from his pocket, holding it up to where the man could see it. “I’m not taking it back, if that’s what you want,” he said before the brunet could say anything. However, the barista shook his head, much to Rick’s surprise as it seemed as he took on wide eyes.

            "N-No, th-that’s not,” he paused, phrasing his words in his head before he said them. “How much d-did it cost?” he asked as he looked up at the man with a red face. Tiptoeing around the actual subject, he was gathering information for what he needed.

            "Why?” he asked, and Morty wasn’t prepared for that answer. Redirecting his approach, he tried to be subtle.

            "J-Just wondering,” he tried to say nonchalantly, putting it back in his pocket, shrugging. Rick looked at him with a confused gaze. With a poker face, and narrowed eyes, he furrowed his eyebrows. A silence rang out through the café, making the teen question what they were talking about, doubting he ever said it, but he knew by Rick’s calculating gaze to reassure him. The man stood for a while before he was replying.

            "About six-hundred, why?” he asked. Morty didn’t reply as he pulled his money out from his back pocket, counting it in his head, not looking at his boyfriend as he plucked it out from the rest and handed it over wordlessly. Rick looked surprised, and he furrowed his eyebrows further, making a slight crinkle in the space of the glabella appear. As strange as it was, the teen nearly swooned at the sight. “What are you doing?”

            The burnet stopped to word the phrase in his head so he wouldn’t stutter. It didn’t do any good as the sentence came out in a jumbled mess anyway. At least he was more confident than he would be. “I’m p-pay-paying you,” he said, finally looked into Rick’s eyes, seeing confusion and curiosity.

            At the words, the man shook his head. “You don’t need –” he started, but the smaller wouldn’t let him. Instead, he cut him off as he pressed the money insistently to him.

            "Y-Yes, I really do,” he persisted, holding Rick’s gaze with his own determined one. The man didn’t more, almost looking pained as he glanced at the money in the boy’s hand, then back to his face.

            "I meant it; it’s not necessary,” he tried for, obviously unaware of Morty becoming frustrated.

            "W-Why is it n-not?” he snapped, making the man’s eyes widened. He was glaring, and Rick seemed to be taken aback, hesitantly speaking as though he were a wild animal. There was a sense of déjà vu, though the teen couldn’t recall why. Still, it was off. Seemed too dissonant somehow. With Rick, it just didn’t feel right. It actually felt worse.

            "I gave you the phone because you needed a new one. I don’t see what the big deal is,” he urged. Huffing, Morty was glaring again as he turned around, putting the money back in his pocket and he walked into the back, leaving the man there, confused and slightly hurt. He didn’t care, however, as he didn’t want to see him at the moment.

            "H-Hey, J-Jessica,” the small boy started, noticing Bonnie was there, putting pans away, and the red-head was just lounging around, lacking a real purpose. “C-Can you t-take the customer up – up front?” he asked, watching as she observed his flustered face, and his distinct body language. Anger was prominent in both aspects, and she immediately knew the situation. Maybe not the entire story, but enough. It didn’t take much, however, with his back hunched over as he crossed his arms, eyes narrowed in a scowl.

            "Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” she promised. Placing the spatula down, she walked past him and out the door. He could see Bonnie looking at him from where he leaned against the railing, facing the opposite wall. Before she could say something, like she wanted – judging by the expression on her face – there was a sound just outside the door. A small ‘Um,’ from the redhead sounded out through the store and the boy looked over. Just as the door swung open, the boy was making eye contact with young girl. There was a tiny frown on her face, one bloomed from confusion. “No one’s out there,” she informed, making the brunet sigh, rolling his eyes.

            Perhaps he overreacted. Maybe he shouldn’t have done what he did, but he was angry. He didn’t want the man spending as much as he did. It was a nice gesture – offering a gift was – but he didn’t like getting presents more expensive that he would willingly spend on himself. Not that he got them often, or at all, but the idea of it happening now was ridiculous. He didn’t need it, and Rick barely knew it. Yet, he was giving him things that he would otherwise not want. Obviously, he could afford getting it, but he didn’t want it. Now the guilt of still having it without giving anything in return was eating him alive.

            "Morty, are you alright?” the blonde coworker asked, bringing the boy back into reality. He snapped his head towards her, seeing a concerned look on her face as she put her hand on his shoulder. Shrugging it off, shaking his head as he brushed past Bonnie as he turned to look away, walking to grab more ingredients. It hadn’t occurred to him he was being a bit rude, but he had so much on his mind.

            "Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” he tried to say, but his voice ended up sounding more agitated than he actually felt as he huffed out the response. “I w-was just thinking,” he explained, placing the things down. The barista was turning to look at her, offering a small grin. The redhead only smiled sympathetically in return, though he felt like she was easily fooled, especially since they haven’t known each other long enough to ask prying questions. Not like he and Bonnie as he glanced over and saw her narrowed gaze. Tipping her nose up, she glossed him over once more before turning on her heel and walking out the door, making sure someone was manning the front.

            Morty turned around, holding himself up with the table, he felt a headache coming along. A migraine was sitting at the base of his skull, but he knew it wouldn’t form. There was only one time he had gotten a headache, and it was a few years ago.

            "Are you still up for hanging out later?” she asked, a slight hope in her voice. He turned to look at her, standing up straight as he nodded determinedly. This wasn’t going to put a downer in his plans, even if he did feel a bit sad.

            "Y-Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

            She smiled, shaking her head as she turned around to walk out the door. Morty didn’t see her again until it was time to get off and switch roles. A person emerged from the back door, and he took off his apron while the other person was already equipped with theirs. They always leave their aprons at the shop, and they get washed every few nights before they leave. Always every Wednesday, and Sunday.

            After he put his under the counter, he looked around to see Jessica emerging from the girl’s bathroom. Smiling slightly, he walked out from behind the counter to sit in one of the booths. A few people sat there sometimes, either when they study, but it never lasted for more than an hour.

             was ready to go in a few minutes, seeing that the other worker was there and they were already taking orders. Morty had his umbrella already in hand. Looking out the window, he’d say he would need it as it looked like it was about to rain again. They headed out, walking towards the park and Morty was feeling nervous to be hanging out with someone, considering he’s never had a ‘real’ friend before.

            The boy still felt angry with Rick, though the shame was there for having gotten mad in the first place. Part of it felt unjust to be upset over one little item, but the larger part of him felt justified. More so than bigger. It was enough to squash the other rendering thoughts. He simply smiled at his potential friend, talking to her in an easy conversation. It was relaxing, finding that he’s wanted to talk for so long, though he was always stuttering. She made it okay as she never once looked at him differently. That only made him sigh again.

             Rick never looked at him differently, either.


	20. Bittersweet*

          They stopped by the Dairy Queen a few blocks over from the park. Both wanted something to drink, and Morty offered to pay, mostly because he had a lot of cash on him at the moment, and he didn’t want the ‘withdraw’ go to waste. So, they walked in and looked upon the menu above the register, and the teen furrowed his eyebrows as he hasn’t been in the restaurant in a while. Panic rose in his throat, knowing he had to order, but his anxiety would only make his stutter worse.

          Taking a breath, he decided to go with a smoothie, glad he didn’t really want food. So, he turned to the girl and gave a small smile.

          "W-What w-would you like?” he asked, his stomach tying in knots as he spoke. The redhead looked over the menu, twisting her mouth to the side much in the similar fashion Rick had done earlier. Everything seemed to remind the boy of him, and he scolded himself for it. This was supposed to be him hanging out with his potential friend, and all he could do was think about the man. Shaking it off, he turned back into the conversation.

          "Um, a strawberry shake,” she finally said, and the teen nodded. Not even bothering to look at how much it cost, he was pulling the smaller wad of money from his pocket and getting out a twenty-dollar bill.

          "Damn,” he heard Jessica comment. A blush found its way to his cheeks, mostly because he felt like a snobby rich kid, and he didn’t like being assumed. His anxiety shot through the roof as they continued to wait in line. It was a different experience talking to strangers when he wasn’t the one behind the counter. He didn’t like their disapproving glances when he stuttered. It made him remember why he hasn’t been to a fast food place in over a year. He liked being the one in charge of other orders. They looked at him the same because he’s the one in charge of their drink. 

          "Hey, you want me to order?” Jessica asked, and Morty looked over at here as she offered a small smile. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

          "W-Would you?” he stuttered out, feeling a wave of relief. She simply smiled, holding out her hand, Morty putting the money in it as they were moved up the line, standing behind the person at the counter.

          "What were you going to get?” she asked, and the teen replied with his smoothie choice before they were moved along. The teen crossed his arms securely across his chest, grabbing his arms to calm himself. Now that he wasn’t faced with talking, his nerves were finally going down. “

          "How may I help you?” the woman behind the register asked. A light-skinned girl worked behind the counter, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and a little toward the thicker side, but she was still pretty. Gages were wedged in her ears, and he thing black glasses framed her face. Jessica reply with their drink selections, throwing a side glance to the other teen as she placed them in the computer. “What size?” the cashier asked, and brunet was speaking up as he realized that was what Jessica was asking.

          "L-Large,” he said, feeling his insides squeeze on themselves, but it wasn’t as bad as he had made form himself. He comforted himself with the thought, and took a deep breath. It didn’t seem to mind the woman as she typed it up, recited their total as it came up on screen. The girl beside him handed over the twenty, and Morty felt his worries wash away as it was over with.

          They stepped aside so another person could order. Standing along the booths, they looked out the window, chatted quietly as they waited for them to be called. Jessica seemed like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated, shaking her head as she let it go and stood quietly along with the boy. Finally, there were called up, the teen grabbing his drink as Jessica grabbed hers, and they walked out the doors, drinking away as the walk was a few more blocks.

          When they got there, both cups were only a quarter way gone. Feeling like he should stay close, he walked along beside her, looking up at her as she started speaking. It wasn’t much of a height different, but she still stood half a foot taller than him.

          "So, Morty,” Jessica started, pausing to look over at the teen in question, whom was looking at her with furrowed brows and a hesitant look in his eyes. “Tell me more about this boyfriend of yours,” she smirked, watching the boy flounder, blushing and being reduced to a stuttering mess. Coughing to clear his throat, he felt heat fill his cheeks once more and he glanced to the path before meeting her mocha gaze.

          "Um, y-yeah. Rick, he’s – uh,” he started, avoiding her observant stare as he thought about the man’s own cooling blue eyes. Just like the first day he met him. Unknowingly, he was smiling soft and fond, speaking in a gentle tone. “He’s great . . .” he said, not knowing how else to describe the unadulterated feeling of comfort he felt when he was around the man. “He’s r-really great.” Jessica pulled him out of his thoughts when she leaned in and whispered to him, annoyed.

          "Look out, grandpa alert,” she said, giggling softly to herself. The barista couldn’t get a chance to look up when he found his shoulders being encased in an arm. Tensing a little, he heard the voice which had him up at night so many times, it was impossible to count.

          "Hello, darling,” Rick’s voice whispered into his her. As he looked over at the man, he smiled softly, but he was dropping it as he remembered what happened this morning. It was something he didn’t want to talk about, but he still felt the need to apologize. Not bothering to push him away, he sighed, continuing to walk, the taller keeping in line with him as he still had his arm around the boy’s shoulders. As he was busy trying to think of a way to push it aside and continue his conversation with the redhead, he wasn’t aware she had stopped walking. Jessica must’ve gotten the wrong idea as she was looking at the brunet’s boyfriend when he turned around, having previously found she wasn’t beside him.

          "Dude, can you not take a hint?” she asked, her expression annoyed and tone exasperated.

          "Oh, n-no,” the smaller started, not wanting this to escalate. “Jessica, th-this is –”

          "And who are you?” the tallest asked, gently quirking his brow and looking over her with a smirk. Annoyance laced his tone, making the teen swat him gently on the side, his arm having to reach around to do so, and not being very effective as he could barely graze him with the awkward angle. He tried to speak up again, she was replying before he could even say his first word.

          "I’m his friend, and we’re obviously kind of busy at the moment. Besides, I’m pretty sure his boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate some old guy coming onto –” she spoked quickly, and Morty only caught the last part before he was cutting her off with a startled feel of how she could say that to a person.

          "Jessica!” he started with a crimson face. Finally, he could the attention of both people, in front and beside him. Grabbing her wrist, he looked at the girl as he leaned closely to her. “Th-This is my b-boyfriend,” he said, biting his lip as she looked at him with a blank stare for a moment. The redhead was yanking her hand away, keeping it away from the teen as though he’s burned her. She looked over the adolescent’s shoulder to the man in a bewildered glance. Then, her gaze turned to Morty with a disgusted look on her face.

          "When you told me – I didn’t really think – I mean, how could I? I thought it was just a joke, but –” she rambled, breaking off her sentences as she tried to make sense of what had just been informed to her, but it only made the boy more confused.

          "J-Jessica, I d-don’t – I don’t know what y-you’re talking about,” he informed quietly, dimly aware the man behind him could still hear their conversation. It wasn’t like he could tell what they meant. Morty didn’t even know what she meant. He simply looked at his new friend, or, perhaps now, ex-friend.

          "You’re dating an old –” the girl started, but Morty was quick to shut it down. He glared at her, tensing up as he did so.

          "He’s  _not_ old, and he’s b-better – a  _lot better_ than Brad was,” he snapped, feeling his cheeks burn with anger, and embarrassment. Her expression changed from disgust to hurt to anger. A spectrum of emotions the teen knew were overwhelming.

          "Whatever,” she said, turning away from him so fast her hair became a red blur for a second as it whirled through the air. The brunet felt guilty as he watched her go, but he knew nothing was his fault. Stubborn people like her were the reason he doubted himself. Or why he  _used_ to doubt himself. He was sure of himself now, and he just spun around to curl his arms around his boyfriend’s ribcage. He buried his face in his chest, and awkwardly held his arms up as his hands were still preoccupied. The taller wrapped his arms hesitantly around the teen’s shoulders, the position being awkward for both of them obviously. Huffing out a breath, he looked up at him with tired eyes.

          "W-Why wouldn’t you l-let me pay you back?” he asked. The man simply shook his head with a small smiling creeping onto the corners of his mouth.

          "I’ve told you: it isn’t necessary,” he assured. Morty sighed, letting that be a valid answer before he was burying his face in the man’s chest again, and he was breathing deeply before he was letting it out in a soothing breath, feeling himself relax as he breath in the enriched scent.

          It started to rain. Droplets briefly caressed his skin before he knew what was happening. He looked up, still holding his umbrella, though it was closed. He went to pull away to open it, though he didn’t get the chance to as the man was tilting his face up to bring him into a kiss. The boy felt taken off guard and his drink slipped from his hand. The plastic feel onto the concrete with a wet crack, but he didn’t care as he let his eyes flutter shit as he melted into the embrace. His now free hand found its way into the man’s thick hair, carding his fingers the blue strands. Sighing contently, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

          The precipitation dampened their clothes, though he didn’t mind as he dropped the umbrella to press himself further in the taller. His long, slender fingers snaked their ways down, digging into the skin on his sides from where his shirt rid up from his stretched arms.

          Reassurance is what he felt as their lips fell into a soft rhythm, their lips connecting, and reconnecting with his in a forgiving manner. Fingers slid down to his shoulders, trying to stabilize himself. Pushing up to his toes, he wanted to press himself further, feeling Rick’s tantalizing body head against the cold outside. It was blissful, and perfect. Everything felt right, even as the man bit at his lip, the slight sting making him gasp, wincing slightly, though it was more from surprise than actual pain. The taller was using this for his ulterior motive: pressing his tongue inside to lavish at the teen’s mouth.

          The brunet felt a slight stir in his groin as he let the older devour his mouth. For modesty’s sake, he pulled his face some little ways away to gasp, though he didn’t get too far for Rick was tugging him closer, pressing his smaller body to the taller’s, and crushing their mouths together again, their tongues meeting, melding together softly. Morty let out a small moan as strong arms wrapped around him, feeling a wave of heat rush over his lower half, and suddenly, it was too hot. It was scorching warm, even as the cool rain hit his skin, absorbing into his flesh, and chilling him. A fire ignited in his bones, as though the sun ran like liquid heat through his veins. He was growing dizzy, his body breaking into a soft sweat, and his face a burning blush.

          The brunet broke away, panting as he felt the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Flushing, he looked down, realizing they were still in public. He looked up at the man, glancing around to make sure no one had been staring at them.

          As far as he could tell, the coast was clear. No one was within spotting-distance of them. Then he was looking into the man’s eyes, almost a royal blue as they had darkened quite a bit, now thoroughly chilling him to the core, only to refuel the same heat that was their earlier, like cool gas being thrown to a fire.

          "I think we should go,” the taller suggest, his voice somewhat hoarse, but his pitch lowering an octave. Morty was too weak to deny him, and he nodded, still breathing harshly as he felt his hair becoming curlier due to the rain. After pulling away slowly, he knew he was in a better mindset as the chilly wind hit him, and he could think more clearly on what the man was asking. He hadn’t spent time with his boyfriend at his house, other than after the misfortunate circumstance, and he was a tad wary about doing it with these conditions. He walked around the taller to pick up his umbrella, and his now empty cup, pouting at the messy puddle that was slowly, but surely, being washed away. He was picking up the lid when he felt the ghost of a hand brush against his backside.

          He squeaked, jumping to cover his posterior as he whirled around, looking up at the man with wide eyes. “R-Rick,” he accused, exasperated, glaring at the man. The older one only laughed, his head thrown back and the teen couldn’t be too mad. He only glowered lightly, his jaw tight as he rolled his eyes behind his lids. When he opened them, the taller had leaned down, smiling widely at him with pearly white teeth, and their faces barely brushing each other. He jumped again, feeling unusually skittish as he did so.

          Before he could react fully, the man was pulling him by the hips and bringing him into another kiss, the umbrella wedged between them as he held the cup above the man’s right shoulder. His arms were trapped, and his hands were full, but he found himself once again comfortable, melting into the warmth of his boyfriend. Once more, he pulled away, rolling his eyes as he smiled up at the man whom acted like a child. He couldn’t stay mad at him, even if he wanted to.


	21. Author's Note

Okay, so, technically I lied in the description of this story, but I borderline gonna cry. I was planning a sort of late Holiday Surprise. Since I was going to be somewhat busy, as everyone else would, I planned my free time to working on finishing the drafts of this story so you all could have something to come back to when you got back from holidays, or even that this would be included in your holidays. I spent the past 6 and a half hours working on one of the longest chapters in this story, and I finished another, and was almost done with the other, and something came up to make Word just fucking  _crash._

Guys, I don't complain often, but this fucking sucks because I only thought to save once and it was during the  _beginning_ of when I started. I kind of feel like dying, but I'm not gonna let it stop me. I promised myself I would do this for you guys, and I won't go back on that. It's just gonna be a bit longer than I thought it would be. I'm sorry, and I love you all. Please be patient with me, and I hope you have happy holidays, or have had enjoyment one ones that have already passed.

For now, I'm just gonna chug a Red Bull and not think about the train tracks just twenty minutes from where I live to lay in the middle of them. But don't worry about me, this was just for me to complain.

  -- J

 

Edit: Alright, so, I fiddled with Word for a bit -- and it's the lame one from this year where no one knows how to recover files and explain it in words I comprehend -- and, well, I'm pretty sure I fucked with the entire thing, so I lost _all_ my fucking progress, and now I for real want to die. Like, I have no idea what happened, and this frustrates me to no end because I had over 8k words typed up into 4 chapters and I was going to post them upcome New Year's, but now, I guess I have to start from scratch where I left off from here, and that might take me even longer to do and I just . . . I'm really sorry, guys. I really am. Happy Holidays and whatnot, I hope everyone has a good time. I love you, and stay warm and safe.

   -- J


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